Finger Trap
by MissingPerson
Summary: Set pre-Fallout 3. Ever wondered why the Regulators devloped the gruesome practives of cutting off the fingers of their targets? The story of how Sonora Cruz became leader of the Regulators.
1. Claws of Death

**Disclaimer: I don't own Fallout 3, Ferris is the only thing that's mine. Don't sue me please! **

**A/N: First time writing fanfic, be kind, please!**

**Chapter One: Claws of Death**

Sometimes, you're just plain unlucky. That's what Ferris Mars told himself as he scrambled for his life over the broken remains of an overpass. Behind him, he heard heavy thuds as the Deathclaw chased him. He could almost feel its fetid breath on his neck. The beast wasn't going to give up. His heart pounded. There was no way he'd be able to outrun it. It had a longer stride, greater stamina. He felt more than heard the beast's claws reach out for him.

The ground suddenly stopped and his foot came down on empty space. Ferris let out a strangled yelp as he dropped. Jagged rocks cut his back, tearing through his duster. He tumbled down an embankment, narrowly missing boulders and large chunks of concrete from the overpass.

Ferris' headlong plummet came to a stop as he reached the bottom. Above, the Deathclaw let out a roar of frustration. The sound was terrible. But it was enough to force Ferris back to his feet. He started running again.

Ahead, Ferris saw his goal. In the pre-dawn gloom, he could see one of the buildings that lay on the outskirts of Washington DC. Somehow, it had survived the war, its structure fairly intact except for the windows; they had been blown out long ago. Another building was adjacent to it, but it hadn't fared so well. Half of it had collapsed. The first building was his goal. Once, it had been a small apartment building, with a diner on the ground floor. Now it was one of the numerous locations the Regulators kept a stash of weapons, this one on the roof.

If he could get to it. The Deathclaw was already making its way down the embankment. The apartment building was a good fifty metres away. It would be on him before he even got halfway.

Then he saw it. Below the building, there was a drain outlet pipe, a little trickle of water feeding a small pool of water beneath it. There was a grate over the outlet, but a hole had been blasted through it at some point in the past. It was small, but maybe big enough. It would do.

Ferris changed path. He ran faster. The Deathclaw had reached the bottom of the embankment. It bellowed and came after him again. The outlet was closer, ten metres away.

The beast closed the distance, _fast_. It must have been toying with him earlier, keeping him just in reach.

Five metres. Ferris dived. The hole in the grate was just big enough. He slipped through and splashed into the rancid water.

A hand shot into the pipe, groping for him. He scrambled back through the water, out of reach.

The Deathclaw let out a bellow of frustration. It roared into the pipe, and tried again, but its claws fell short, scraping through the water.

After a moment, Ferris heard its heavy footfalls moving away. He let out a sigh of relief, and lay back in the water, taking great gulps of air. He was safe for the moment.

* * *

Ferris had been tracking several raiders who had been terrorising the trade caravans on their route between Rivet City and Canturbury Commons. The traders were mostly lucky to escape with their lives. The guards they employed simply weren't enough to deal with the raiders. So several had grouped together and approached the Regulators. They offered cold, hard caps for them to deal with the Raiders. The Regulators didn't normally take payment. They left that to the merc companies like Reilly's Rangers. But times had been hard in the past few months. There were fewer and fewer Regulators. So Morgan Cruz had accepted the offer. He had big plans for the Regulators, bringing justice back to the Wasteland. Hell, they might even be able to establish more outposts across Washington DC. But best of all, as far as Ferris was concerned, they'd be able to move out of the damned shack they called Headquarters.

With so few Regulators, he had sent Ferris, Leroy and Gale to track the Raiders. It would have taken too long to recall any of the others, and the next caravan was due to make its run soon. His daughter, Sonora, had wanted to join the hunt, but Morgan shot that idea down; one day, she would take over as leader of the Regulators. Until then, there was no way Morgan was going to risk his fifteen year-old daughter.

Tracking the Raiders had been absurdly easy. They took no precautions, brazenly camping near the caravan route in the ruins of an old housing estate that gave them a good view of the surrounding landscape.

The three regulators crept through the darkness, closer to the camp. When they were twenty metres away, they split off, heading to different sides of the camp. Ferris lost sight of them after a few metres. He grinned; the Raiders wouldn't know what hit them. He unlimbered his assault rifle and flicked off the safety, and crouched down behind the wreckage of a rusting car.

They sat around a small campfire beside one of the wrecked buildings, laughing and joking over their latest kill. Bramin meat hung over the fire on a spit, slowly roasting. There were five of them, one sorting through the pile of gear they'd taken from the caravan. As Ferris watched, another Raider came out of a nearby single-storey house, carrying several bottles. She handed them to her comrades before taking her place by the fire. Ferris waited.

Leroy took down the first. A single shot from his hunting rifle blew out the Raider's brains as he sat, leaning against the white picket fence that surrounded the two houses. His comrades sat frozen, covered in gore, staring at the bloody corpse. Then they exploded into activity. One dived away from the fire, arm stretched as he reached out for his shotgun propped against the wall of the ruined building. He never made it. A burst from Ferris' rifle caught him mid-dive, tearing through his torso. He landed bonelessly, dead.

The other Raiders started firing randomly into the darkness. A few shots pinged off the car bonnet, but too wide to hit Ferris. Another fell to Leroy's rifle. Ferris wondered why Gale wasn't firing on the Raiders with her laser rifle.

That was when the Deathclaw appeared.

The first any of them knew of its presence was a shrill scream that cut across the firefight, and brought everyone to a stand still. It cut off mid-scream. Gale's lifeless corpse flew out of the darkness in a spray of blood and guts. She landed in the fire, smothering it. Her torso had been torn to shreds. Both the Raiders and the Regulators froze, facing the direction Gale had come from. Ferris felt a cold fear settle in the pit of his stomach.

The Deathclaw lumbered out of the night. It was massive; three times their size, more like a creature from the darkest depths of Hell than something born in the Wastelands. Its head was demonic, elongated with a mouth full of teeth, and two huge horns. Its long, muscular arms hung ape-like, and were tipped with razor-sharp claws. The hairless body was covered with thick, leathery skin.

Before any of them could react, a swipe from its claws tore one of the Raiders in half, his torso flying into the night, his legs collapsing in a bloody pile.

Ferris didn't know what happened after that, though he heard the screams. He turned and fled, not even bothering to fire on the beast. There was no point; between them, they didn't have the kind of firepower it took to take down a Deathclaw.

He didn't know how long he'd been running, but it wasn't long before he heard the unmistakeable thudding footsteps. The Deathclaw was giving chase.

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**Review please!**


	2. Interlude 01

**Interlude 01**

"She's still pissed at you, y'know."

"Hmmm?"

Morgan Cruz didn't look up. It had been five days since he sent Ferris, Gale and Leroy out after the Raiders. He'd spent half that time avoiding the job, but now there was a pile of paperwork, almost a foot high on his desk, next to a couple of pre war books on finance and management. When he established the DC Regulators, he'd never thought that he'd end up spending half of his time sitting behind a desk like some petty bureaucrat, reading through reams and reams of paper. Most of them were reports from Regulators out in the field, and all of them depressingly similar: Raiders had attacked a small settlement out in the hills, leaving nothing but smouldering ruins in their wake; slaver activity was on the increase, and Paradise Falls was doing more and more business; Super mutants numbers were rising. And his Regulators were making damn all impact.

The rest of the stack consisted of financial reports, and they managed to be even more depressing. They were low on funds, with barely enough to keep everyone fed for the next month.

It was that sorry state of affairs that had forced him to reluctantly accept the traders offer of payment to deal with the Raiders. It was galling. At this rate, they would have to start taking on more paid contracts. That would make them nothing more than glorified mercenaries.

Sighing, Morgan rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Which was when he realised than Charlie was standing over him.

"Sorry, what?"

Charlie rolled his eyes, and leaned on his cane. The old man had been the first recruit, the last surviving member of the old gang, beside himself. He'd stuck by Morgan, saving his life when they'd come running out of the sewers, mirelurks chasing them. His closest friend, Robert, had died that day. They'd been younger then. Young and stupid enough to think they could steal from amongst a mirelurk nest.

"I said, Sonora's still pissed at you."

"I'm not letting her out on a mission, Charlie. She's only fifteen, for fuck's sake!" he snapped.

"I know that, Morgan. But she doesn't. She thinks she's ready."

Morgan sank deeper into his chair. "What should I do, then? Do you think I should've let her go with Ferris and the others?"

"Honestly? There's no one better to keep an eye on her than Ferris, and you know it. But no, I don't think you should've let her go with them. You know I don't trust that Leroy. Ferris'll have enough to deal with keeping him in line, without having to look after her as well." Charlie hobbled further into the room, and painfully set himself down in the only other chair. Morgan swivelled round to face him.

"What are you thinking, old friend?"

"You've held her back too long. Only natural. She's your only daughter, and you're her father. But she needs to understand the Wasteland. When Ferris gets back, as him to take her on patrol with him."

"You're right, you're right." He let out a long, defeated breath. "No time like the present, I guess."

Charlie smirked. "Any excuse to avoid all that paperwork."

"Damn right. Where is she?"

Charlie gestured towards the door. "Down in the armoury. Where else?"

Leaving his desk, Morgan headed downstairs to the back room. Sure enough, the hatch to the armoury was open. It was a small chamber, cut out of the ground that the farmhouse had been built on. The chamber was only three metres long by two wide. Sonora was sitting at the workbench, cleaning a pistol. She'd dismantled it expertly, the parts laid out in the order she would need them to put it back together.

He crouched down at the top of the ladder in to the armoury "Sonora?"

She ignored him.

"Honey, I want to talk to you."

"I'm busy."

"It's important."

Morgan stood and stepped away from the entrance to the armour to wait. After several minutes, Sonora finally put down the pieces she was cleaning.

"What do you want, Dad?" she asked, climbing the ladder.

"I wanted to talk to you, about going out on patrol. I think it's time that you –"

"Morgan!" Charlie's shout interrupted him. "We've got company!"

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**A/N: Review please!**


	3. Boom, Baby

**Boom, Baby**

The manhole cover was stuck to its rim, and took a good heave to move. Standing on the metal rungs of the tunnel out of the sewer, Ferris winced as it let out a groan of protest. It reverberated down the tunnel and into the sewer outlet. He hoped that the deathclaw wasn't still around. If it heard that, it'd most likely come to investigate.

With a final heave, he lifted the cover up a few inches, and peeked out. The gap wasn't big enough to give a full view, but it was enough. Ahead he could see the remains of a road, and a few metres away, the burnt-out wreck of an old three-wheeler. The canopy had come off sometime ago, revealing the cockpit to the elements. Lichen and creepers had grown up out of it over the years, the rotten leather seat making a convenient bed for their roots. On either side of the road, Ferris could see the base of the two buildings. He grinned in elation; the sewer had brought him out exactly where he wanted to be, between the two buildings. If he was really lucky, the deathclaw had given him up as a lost cause, and had moved on to better prey.

Ferris kept watch for a few more minutes, just to be sure.

Except for the wind, whistling through the opening, there was nothing, no sign of life at all. Satisfied, he slid the manhole cover to one side, and pulled himself out. He grimaced as he looked down at himself. In the wasteland, you got used to grime and dirt. With no regular washing facilities, and most water being irradiated, you didn't have much of a choice in the matter. Now his clothes were soaked and covered in muck from his crawl through the sewer. Belatedly, he checked the radiation badge he carried. It was nowhere near as useful as a giger counter, but those things were damned expensive.

Black. Wonderful, the water had, unsurprisingly, been irradiated. When he got back to Regulator Headquarters, he'd have to take an IV of radaway. _If I get back_, he corrected himself. Now was not really the time to be worrying about radiation poisoning.

There was a snuffling noise behind him.

Ferris froze. His heart leapt into his throat. He turned slowly.

At the other end of the road, the deathclaw was picking its way through a pile of rubble at the base of the ruined building. It flicked aside a rock the size of his head with casual ease, sending it bouncing down the road. It hadn't sensed him yet.

Ferris wondered at that. It had a damned good sense of smell. Then it hit him. He smelled like a sewer. For the first time, he was very glad he'd taken a crawl through the muck after all. But if he stayed out in the open, it would spot him sooner or later. He had to get to the stash.

Slowly, he took a step towards the apartment building. The deathclaw still hadn't noticed him. It was too interested in whatever was buried under the rubble. Maybe there was a body under there, someone buried when that part of the building had collapsed. It could have been recent, or even a few months old. Enough that the body would be rotting, giving off a smell that the deathclaw had sensed. As long as it kept the beast distracted, Ferris didn't care what it was.

He took another step towards the apartment building. He was close now, could almost feel the broken window behind him that was his way in.

His boot hit something. Ferris didn't know what it was, but the blow was enough to send it clattering across the tarmac. He winced and cursed.

The deathclaw looked up at the noise. Its massive head swung to look at Ferris. The bellow of recognition was deafening. And the beast came for him again.

There was no way he'd make it to the window, so he just reacted. He reached behind him and brought his assault rifle round. Not quick enough. It closed the distance between them, _fast_.

The deathclaw really had been toying with him earlier. Staying behind him just enough to keep Ferris running, to keep the fear alive in him before it finally killed him and ate him.

Ferris had barely got his rifle off his back when he saw the wicked claws slicing through the air before him. He shifted his grip on his rifle.

The blow hit him in his right shoulder, slamming the rifle against him. It sent him flying backwards. He landed hard, and cried out in pain as something cracked in his left arm.

He'd landed inside the apartment building. _I guess not all my luck is bad_, Ferris thought ironically. A table had broken his fall, but he'd fallen badly on his left arm, and from the agony that shot up it, he was fairly certain he'd broken it. The broken shards of his assault rifles lay on either side of him.

A shadow passed over him, He looked up to see the deathclaw poking its head through the window. It looked down at him, jaws wide. Saliva dripped from the rows of sharp teeth.

With one swift movement, Ferris drew his 10mm pistol. He unloaded the entire twelve round clip into its face. The retort was loud in the enclose space. But not as loud as the deathclaw's roar of pain. The bullets penetrated the soft tissue inside its mouth. Not deep enough to reach the brain, but it recoiled in pain nonetheless.

Seeing his chance, Ferris staggered to his feet, and ran for the stairs. His legs were leaden. He'd pushed himself hard for the past few hours, hadn't slept for more than sixteen. But he had to keep going. Stop, and he'd be dead, food for another wasteland monster.

The stairs creaked and cracked underfoot, threatening to give way at any moment. The boards were rotten, victims of exposure to a harsh environment for over a century.

By the time Ferris reached the roof, his breath was coming in ragged breaths. He was almost at the limit of his stamina.

The stash was in a footlocker by the roof access. It was padlocked.

He ejected the empty clip in his pistol, and one handed, loaded a fresh one. The slide shot back into place, chambering a round.

Ferris pointed his pistol at the padlock, and pulled the trigger.

_Click_. The sound was ominously loud. He cocked the hammer.

_Click_.

Misfire. Ejecting the clip, he saw that the interior was slick with the black muck from the sewer. It must have got clogged up as he crawled through the pipe.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he muttered. Ferris dropped to his knees. He'd come all this way, survived a close encounter with the most feared monster of the DC wasteland. Pinned all his hopes for survival on the contents of this footlocker, and the damned thing needed a key. A fucking key!

He felt like screaming in frustration.

Several floors below, there came the sound of walls being torn apart. The deathclaw was coming.

He may as well sit there and wait for it, let the bastard thing fulfil whatever twisted desires it had, and kill him.

The noise from below was getting louder. It wouldn't be long now.

As he sat there, Ferris saw out of the corner of his eye that some of the bricks from the parapet had fallen inwards and onto the roof, leaving a gap facing the building opposite. Reaching for the closest brick, he let out a yell of frustration, and hit the padlock. He hit it again.

On the third blow, the padlock broke open. With trembling fingers, Ferris worked the padlock out of the latch, and opened the footlocker. What he saw made him gasp.

Gingerly, he took out a mini nuke.

Ferris had only ever seen such a device once before. It had been in the hands of a knight of the Brotherhood of Steel. The bomb had been used to take out a rampaging Super Mutant Behemoth. Launched from a Fatman catapult, the blast had left nothing but bloody chunks of the behemoth, scattered over an area the size of a football pitch.

This one however, had been rigged with a remote detonator. Ferris felt a dark grin spread across his face. One of Morgan's caches, he thought. The man really did have a penchant for overkill.

He had to work fast.

Setting the mini nuke down on its fins, he flicked the activation switch, and worked his way through the priming sequence. After several seconds a red light started blinking on the panel. It was live.

The door to the roof burst open. The Deathclaw forced its way through an opening smaller than it was. Bricks tumbled from the doorway, sending up a cloud of dust.

Emerging from the access, the deathclaw turned to face Ferris.

He didn't know why this one had decided to follow him so ruthlessly. There was word that the beasts sometimes latched on to a prey, and followed it until they killed it, or it was dead. Right now, Ferris didn't care.

"Fuck you!" he screamed, and pressed the detonator. He turned and ran, straight for the gap in the parapet.

Ferris jumped.

The gap between the two buildings was a good ten metres. In all his life, Ferris, had never jumped five metres, let alone ten. But then, his life hadn't been as close to ending as it was now. There were open windows on every floor. They were big, designed to let in as much light as possible. Three floors down, Ferris slammed into an open window frame, half in, half out. His legs dangled in mid air.

On the roof of the apartment building, the mini nuke detonated. For a moment, a white light engulfed everything. Then the blast wave hit, slamming Ferris against the side of the building.

He started to slide. With only one good arm, Ferris scrabbled for something, anything. He grabbed the window frame. It held, for a moment. Then the rotten wood gave way, and Ferris was falling.

He hit the ground hard, his breath leaving him in a great whoosh.

As he lay there, gasping for breath, gobbets of blood and gore and entrails rained down around him.

Between gasps of breath, he started laughing. A horrible, croaking laugh that verged on hysteria. But he didn't care.

As far as Ferris was concerned, lying on a broken tarmac road, surrounded by the bloody remains of the beast that had chased him through part of the night, he had a right to laugh.

He had stared into the face of Death, and survived.

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**A/N: review please (I also now accept anonymous reviews)!**


	4. Homecoming

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews so far!**

**Homecoming**

It had taken almost three days to make the trek back to Regulator Headquarters. As much as he hated the damned, run-down farmhouse, Ferris was glad to see its rusting corrugated iron exterior. Even from half a mile away, the building nothing more than a brown smudge in the distance, he could recognise it.

He was bone-weary now, and despite being in sight of the one place he had called home for the past few years, he felt almost ready to drop then and there, and sleep for the entire day, and well into the next. But he kept moving. Planting one foot in front of the other, slow and steady, as he'd done for the last few miles.

Ferris had lain on the road, surrounded by the remains of the Deathclaw for a good six hours, drifting in and out of consciousness. When he finally came to, he cursed his stupidity liberally; every man, woman and child born in the DC Wasteland knew better than to take a nap out in the open, at least not without some preparation before hand to try and ensure nothing came along whilst you were asleep to eat, kill or otherwise harm you. And there he'd been, lying down, in the middle of a road, of all places!

He had been bloody lucky a Yao Guai hadn't come along to investigate the smell of blood in the air, or that some Raiders hadn't spotted the explosion and decided to check it out.

Right now, all Ferris wanted, was a change of clothes, a scrub down, an infusion of radaway, and uninterrupted decent sleep in an actual bed.

When he finally crested the last hill, the farmhouse was a few scant metres away. Ferris' slow walk came to a complete stop. He froze, all thought of rest suddenly banished from his mind. His exhaustion was gone, evaporated in a sudden surge of adrenaline. He dropped into a crouch, keeping as much of himself hidden in the long brown grass as he could.

A broken wooden fence surrounded the farmhouse, forming a pen for the Regulator's several bramin. The mutated bovines were a good food source for them, supplementing what they bought from the passing trade caravans. The herd were fairly docile, happy to spend most of their time grazing on the scant brown grass. Gayle had once commented that they were probably the friendliest creatures in the entire wastes. These ones were certainly better company than the majority of the humans that made a living in DC.

The corpses of the herd lay scattered over the picketed area. Explosives had been used to kill them, blasting gaping holes in their tough hides. In death, the twin heads lay against each other, slack-jawed, their eyes glassy.

Whoever had killed the bramin had done so in as quick and as messy a manner as possible. Ferris was surprised that they hadn't set the farmhouse on fire too. Maybe they had been in too much of a hurry.

All thoughts of rest and recovery left him. He could turn around, slink back away from the farmhouse. Maybe even find a new line of work. He could always sign on with the guards at Rivet City. Harkness was always looking for new recruits, and with his experience, he'd get a post easy enough. But that would mean never finding out what had happened here, whether his friends were still alive or dead. And if they were dead, then it was up to him to find the culprits and give them the same treatment.

In the end, it was burning curiosity that decided him.

Ferris made his way as stealthily as possible to the farmhouse he had called home, moving fast and quiet. His broken left arm trailing limply. He kept it as still as possible, but every quick step sent a spasm of pain up his arm. He'd managed to splint it for the journey back to headquarters, but it was make-do. About all he was capable of with one hand.

The closer he got, the tighter the knot in his stomach became. He needed to know what happened to his friends. You couldn't count on many people in DC, and it was a rare thing indeed to call someone friend. But that's what the other Regulators were.

He reached the fence, and crouched behind it. The fence itself provided no cover, but there was a bramin carcass just on the other side. Its big body provided plenty of cover. And it'd absorb any bullets fired at him. Instinctively, Ferris drew his pistol and flicked off the safety. Almost immediately, he cursed, and slammed it back into its thigh holster. The mechanism was still jammed from the crawl through the sewer. He'd need to use the workbench in the farmhouse to get it working again.

That left his combat knife. Not really useful if any of the attackers still remained. They could pop out and cut him down before Ferris could get in range to effectively use the knife. He could always throw it, he supposed. A well aimed knife could disarm someone before they could fire. Assuming there was only one attacker waiting for him.

After a few minutes, the smell of the dead bramin was overwhelming. The body was surrounded by its own halo of flies, feeding on the decaying remains. Maggots crawled over the gaping wound in its side. The bramin had been dead a few days. Whatever had happened, Ferris realised, had gone down several days ago.

Then he saw the grave marker. It was crude in its simplicity, a wooden cross made from two lengths of wood lashed together, the longest rammed into the ground. It sat at the head of a small mound of earth. The mound was oblong-shaped, and, Ferris judged, the right size for a body.

Why, he wondered, would whoever attacked the Regulators, stay around long enough to bury a body? They wouldn't. Maybe someone had survived whatever had happened. Had Leroy made it back? It was feasible that he'd somehow made it out alive if the Deathclaw hadn't detected him, and only slaughtered the Raiders before coming after Ferris. That idea niggled him though.

Sitting here beside the rotting corpse of a two-headed cow isn't finding out what the hell happened, Ferris thought.

He approached the front door of the farmhouse, and turned the handle. The door creaked loudly as he pushed it open.

The farmhouse the Regulators used as their headquarters had a simple layout. An L-shaped main room downstairs, with a desk at one end and a room just off the foot of the 'L'. Along the wall beside the door were the trophies of past victories. A rifle had been propped up there, and a sword had hung from the wall; they had been Morgan's when he was still an active Regulator. Both gone now. Opposite the door, stairs led up to the first floor with two more rooms. There were mattresses on the floor up there, simple beds for any Regulators in the area.

There were signs of a struggle throughout the house. Overturned chairs, filing cabinets that had been set against one wall had been knocked over, and now blocked the entrance to the back room. Blood had been splashed over some walls, a spray pattern around several dark bullets holes. More blood had congealed on the floor. So someone had been shot, and badly too. The occupant of the grave outside? Ferris wondered.

But more importantly, there were no signs of anyone. No bodies had been left behind. Just the aftermath. The entire building had been ransacked too. A quick search found nothing but spent rifle cartridges, shotgun shells, some 10mm casings.

Ferris climbed over the fallen cabinets, and entered the back room. It was a similar story here, the metal-frames shelves having been knocked over. The worn rug on the floor hadn't been touched, however. With his good hand, he twitched it aside. The cellar door was still shut. Chances were they didn't know or care about what was down there.

With a grunt, Ferris yanked the door open, coughing in the sudden updraft of dust. A crude wooden ladder led down into darkness. The lights flicked on readily enough, revealing a small chamber, no more than three metres by two. There was a workbench against one wall, a dismantled pistol lying on it. The rest of the space taken up by gun cabinets and ammo crates. Ferris grinned to himself. The cellar was still fully stocked, and best of all, the spare first aid kit hung from a wall near the ladder, stocked with several doses worth of radaway. Taking the radaway and a spare .32 pistol from a cabinet, Ferris returned to the ground floor.

It took almost fifteen minutes, but he eventually got the IV set up, a steady drip of radaway working its way into his bloodstream. It was probably just psychosomatic, but Ferris could almost swear he could feel it working already, the nausea that had plagued him for the past few days abating. He hung the drip from a stand, and sat down at the desk, swinging his feet up onto it. Ferris took a deep breath and sighed. Exhaustion, held at bay by the earlier surge of adrenaline, came back with a vengeance. Moments later, he was fast asleep.

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He dreamed he was floating on a sea of clouds. He soared over an undulating landscape made from cotton wool, wispy, insubstantial tufts flitting past as he swooped low. Then the clouds cleared, and beyond, he could see the real ground. It was murky, a patchwork landscape made from rotten browns and green. All the colour had been sucked from the world, leaving it a lifeless husk of its former self.

In the distance, he spotted a smudge of colour on the horizon. It was different to the rest, the green vibrant and strong. Curious, He curved towards it, dropping lower and picked up speed. He held his arms out like wings, tilting and twisting them to keep his path straight.

A gesture brought him even closer to the ground. He was skimming just above the tips of blasted trees, their stunted, blackened limbs, devoid of leaves, twisted up into the sky like gnarled fingers. Abruptly the ground gave way to radioactive pools, a vast lifeless swamp, mist hanging over its surface like a pall.

He reached the far side of the swamp. The smudge of green was much bigger now, and suddenly he could see what it was. He gestured again, flicking his arms out before bringing them in to his sides. Lightly, he touched down on the ground, bare feet on hard, compacted soil. A road had once run along here, curving round to dip into the swamp. He lifted his head from the ground and marvelled at the sight that confronted him. His mouth split in a wide, toothy smile.

Trees. Real, living trees. Thick trunks thrust majestically into the air, topped by a canopy of lush green leaves. And surrounding the trees lay a smooth mat of grass. Nothing like the dry, dead brown grass He was used to. This was a vibrant green to match the leaves, and it tickled the soles of his feet as he walked on it.

A path led through the trees – a forest, He recalled, though he was sure he'd never seen one – leading under the canopy. He followed it, with barely a glance behind. It was so easy to do. The world behind was cold and dead, whilst this was so _alive_.

Eventually, the path widened to a clearing, thirty metres in diameter. At the very centre stood a stone obelisk. It was almost half as tall as the trees, tapering to a sharp point. It easily towered above Him. There was writing down the sides of the obelisk, words that were hauntingly familiar.

Suddenly, He didn't want to get any closer. He wanted to turn away and leave the forest behind and return to the skies. Instead his feet betrayed him, carrying him into the centre of the clearing to stand a few feet away from the massive stone. The words were still unclear, and despite his trepidation, He wanted to reach out and run his hand over them. He knew that would bring clarity to the words, and understanding. A part of his mind screamed at him to turn and flee.

He heard a snuffling sound behind him. Fear froze him to the spot. There was no escape now, He knew, none at all.

Knowing what he would see, He turned.

The Beast stood at the edge of the clearing, sniffing the air. It was demonic in appearance, all horns and claws. A sight to strike terror into your heart, He knew.

The Beast saw him, and it grinned. It had been hunting him for so long. It pounced.

He saw vicious claws flash towards him and –

* * *

Ferris woke with a start, his body jerking on the old mattress, and sat up abruptly. He was drenched with sweat, his heart hammering in his chest. A nightmare, just a nightmare, he thought.

Except, a little voice told him, the Beast was real, and it had attacked him.

Shaking his head, Ferris wiped the sweat from his face, and with it banished the last lingering vestiges of the dream. He froze suddenly, his arm halfway from his face, and looked round, puzzled.

The last he remembered, was falling asleep on the chair. How had he got to a bed and undressed himself. Had he done it in his sleep and couldn't remember doing it? That didn't explain how he had managed to remove his duster and his shirt, not with the IV feed in the way. They were now lying in a dirty pile in one corner of the room. They had been cut from him, Ferris saw. There was no way he'd done that in his sleep.

Creaking floorboards upstairs, followed by the clinking sound of meta-on-metal told the truth. He was not alone, and that person had moved him. Time to find out what they knew, Ferris decided.

He stood, and pulled the IV drip from his arm. Then he noticed the Medical bracing that had been strapped to his left arm, held in place with leather straps and bandages that had been expertly tied. The brace was secure, the straps not too tight. He flexed his arm tentatively. It still hurt to move it, but nothing like it had on the trip back to the farmhouse; more like a mild throb now. Whoever the unknown person was, they had done a good job fixing him up. Not something an enemy would do, he was sure.

Ferris grabbed the revolver he had found, and went to investigate. He moved silently up the stairs, his bare feet chilled by the cold steps. Reaching the halfway point, Ferris popped his head above the floor level and peered through the banisters. Someone was moving about in the kitchen area, and making no effort to be all that quiet about it. They were dressed like a Regulator, wearing the eponymous duster, but at his angle, Ferris couldn't tell who it was. For a moment he wondered if it might be Leroy. But the build was too slight, and though the person's long hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, it was the wrong colour; a reddish brown, whereas Leroy's was black.

Ferris crossed the distance to stand behind the intruder. At this distance, he realised belatedly that it was a woman. He pointed the revolver at her back, and cocked the hammer. She froze at the sound.

"Turn around slowly, and keep your hands where I can see them. No sudden moves. Now, what are you doing here, and who the hell are – Katrina?"

"Hi Ferris. I'm glad to see you're feeling better. Can I put my hands down now? I was kind of in the middle of preparing breakfast."

Ferris nodded dumbly. Katrina turned back to the oven, and he lowered the pistol. "What are you doing back here? I thought Morgan sent you up north to check out the new ruler of the town up north."

"He did," Katrina replied. She cracked open a couple of eggs and dropped them into the frying pan she was heating. They began to sizzle and pop. "And what a waste of time that was. The Kingdom of Tom. Can you believe it? Just another harmless crackpot and his merry band of followers, bringing their own brand of civilisation to the Wasteland. Stupid bastard tried to get me to help him dispense his own brand of justice, then threw me out when I said no!" She sighed in disgust. "Honestly, I don't know why we bother sometimes. Did meet someone who was keeping an eye on the place. Some guy called Dave."

"Katrina, what happened here?" Ferris asked softly. He knew her well enough to know Katrina was babbling to avoid the inevitable question.

Her shoulders sagged for a moment. She took the eggs off the stove and slid them onto two plates along with a thick slice of bread. "Breakfast's ready."

"Katrina,"

"Not here. Can we go sit down? Please?"

Ferris opened his mouth to object, but closed it when he saw the pleading look in her eyes. Katrina was many things, but pleading had never been one of them, until now. He nodded, and led the way back downstairs. They sat at the table in the back room. Katrina passed him a knife and fork, and they began to eat.

"I got back here, two days ago, a little earlier than planned." She said, between mouthfuls of food. "Kinda glad I didn't arrive any sooner. The place was a mess. I saw the bramin outside, and realised we'd been hit. Didn't know by who. The farmhouse was in a bad state, blood all over the place, and no sign of anyone. Until I found Charlie upstairs. He'd been shot, point blank by a shotgun. An utter mess. He'd lost a lot of blood, fuck knows how he was still alive."

"The grave outside?"

Katrina nodded. "He died a few hours later, nothing I could do for him. But he passed me a note, told me to give it to you. That's the only reason I'm still here, instead of out finding the bastards who hit us." She took out a small scrap of paper, and passed it to him.

It was small, a bit of notepaper, folded over. Ferris opened it. He recognised the handwriting. Charlie always had been a lousy writer. He never quite understood the need for it. Guns and knives were more his thing. But, he still could read it. Charlie must have put the last of his strength into writing those words, as he slowly bled to death on the floor. He read the single, short sentence scrawled there:

Talons have them.

With his good fist, Ferris crushed the note. Talon company. The lowest, dirtiest mercs in the Wastes, had attached the Regulators and captured their leader and his daughter.

They were going to pay.

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	5. Old Comrades

**Old Comrades**

Morgan Cruz felt the hard butt of a rifle slam into his back, forcing him through the doorway. They left the sack over his head, held in place by a bit of rope tied loosely around his neck. He stumbled and landed awkwardly, the sack preventing him from seeing where he was going. He hit his head on hard floorboards. Stars swam in his vision, the disorientation adding to his rising nausea. The door slammed shut behind him, and he blacked out.

After a while, he regained consciousness again to a throbbing feeling in his hands. He'd landed on his back, his hands tied behind him. The bindings were tight, but it was the weight of his body that had cut the circulation off. With a grunt, Morgan rolled onto his front.

He still ached all over, and he was fairly certain there were now ugly bruises over most of his body. Each one had been earned, each one a testament to his failure.

He'd fought hard when the Talon Company mercenaries attacked the farmhouse, as had the others. But they had outnumbered the Regulators five to one. In the end, the outcome had been inevitable.

* * *

After Gale, Leroy and Ferris had left to deal with the raiders, there were only three of them left in the farmhouse, himself, Charlie, and Sonora. Charlie hadn't been active for sometime, not since a close encounter with a Yao Guai had left him partially paralysed. He'd spent most of his time keeping the house in order, ensuring that the Regulator's small store of weapons were cleaned and well maintained.

The Talons had struck late in the night. The first Morgan had known of it was when the front door had been blown open. He'd snapped awake immediately at the noise, grabbing his shotgun. The first Talon up the stairs died with his head blown off at point blank range. Behind him, Sonora had surged up to join him, submachine gun in hand. Together they fended off the Talons, managing to force them back outside. The Talons retreated to a safe distance, anytime one of them strayed close enough, they'd fall to a burst from Sonora's SMG. It became a waiting game. Eventually, other Regulators would return, surprising the Talons from behind. They just had to hold out till then. Except the Talons weren't in the mood to wait.

They charged just before dawn. Rifle fire blasted through the thin metal walls, forcing the three Regulators to dive for cover. Despite the choke point the front door provided, the sheer number of the Talons meant that they eventually got through. Charlie was the first to die. A shotgun blast from one of the Talons caught him full in the chest, and sent him flying back to slam into the wall in a spray of blood.

With so many bodies, there was no more room for Morgan to use his shotgun. He dropped it and took up the sword hanging from the trophy wall. He fought back-to-back with his daughter. And for a while, they held their own.

Morgan never saw the blow that sent him reeling. It knocked him down, the Talons crowding round him, sending kicks at every inch of his body they could find. Distantly, he heard Sonora cry out, and all went silent.

When he regained consciousness, Morgan was outside, and a sack had been tied over his head. He could hear muttered voices. One of them was familiar, though he couldn't place it. The other was angry, something to do with the trouble he, Sonora and Charlie had caused in capturing them. He wanted a bigger cut. There was a sudden bang, followed by a thump. Morgan knew what that meant.

"Anyone else want to argue?" The familiar voice said. "No? Good. Pick up those two. Time to go."

Hands hauled Morgan Sonora to their feet, then Morgan felt the rope around his neck tighten, forcing him to start walking.

* * *

Light was streaming in from a small window, a few metres above him. Morgan could tell he was in a small room, maybe some sort of old office, he could tell that much. The loose weave of the sack let him see that much.

The door suddenly opened, and another person was thrown in. Morgan heard a yelp as the person hit the floor, followed by a scared whimper. Morgan paused for a moment, listening.

"Sonora?"

"Dad? Where are you? I can't see anything through this sack."

"I'm over here, sweetheart" He heard a shuffling noise, then felt his daughter's foot touch him. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

"I'm okay Dad. They left me in a room, downstairs, I think, then they brought me up here. What about you?"

"Just a few bruises, nothing serious. At least you're okay, that's the important thing."

"For now," Sonora muttered. "Where are we?"

"I'm not sure, somewhere near the Potomac, I think. I'm pretty sure I heard the river when they took us inside. Bastard Talons."

"But, why would mercenaries hit us? It's not like we're rivals or anything. We don't even piss on their turf."

"I don't know, Sonora. Someone hired them to attack us. The Talons have always been happy

to take on any contract, no matter how dirty. I guess we'll find out who sooner or later."

The door to the room opened, and Morgan heard someone step inside. "Get up. Not you," the person said, when Sonora made to stand. The voice was male, and guttural, and completely unfamiliar. "Boss wants to see you, old man."

Deciding compliance was the better choice, Morgan struggled to get up, making a show of it. The man let out an annoyed sigh. He took another step in and hauled Morgan to his feet. He could, he knew, get up on his own. Despite the beating he'd taken when the Talons attacked, no bones were broken, but Morgan wanted them to think he was weaker than he actually was. If he was ever to get Sonora out of here, he needed every advantage he could get. He had to think of her, now.

The man led Morgan up several flights of stairs, yanking on the rope around his neck every time Morgan slowed and stumbled.

"Stand there," the man said, when they reached their destination, dragging Morgan to a spot. The rope went slack around his neck.

"I think we can take off that sack now, don't you think?"

The voice didn't belong to the man who'd brought Morgan upstairs. He knew its owner. Had worked with him for ten years, had, on occasion, entrusted Sonora to his care. He had been a valued and trusted member of the Regulators, someone Morgan had, when he'd admitted him and begun his training, once thought he would be fit to take over as leader when Morgan stepped down. But a deep-rooted aggressive attitude had halted that line of thought a long time ago. He had still remained a trusted compatriot, his thoughts and comments valued, even if a little too hardline for Morgan's liking. But the trust had been strained over the past few months as times got hard. Accepting the payment for getting rid of the raiders had been his idea.

The sack was yanked viciously from Morgan's head, pulling it back as the roughly-woven cloth scraped over his face. The room was brightly lit by artificial lights, and brought tears to his eyes, blurring his vision. Morgan blinked away the sudden tears.

When his vision cleared, he could see his was standing at one end of a large room, easily twenty metres across, next to a cold fireplace. Pillars ran around the perimeter of the room, supporting an upper level balcony. On one side, stairs led down from the balcony, and above, a chandelier hung from the high ceiling, a massive display of glass shapes artfully arranged. Light bulbs glowed amongst the glass. Morgan could just see doors off the balcony, which he presumed led to other rooms, most likely bedrooms. More doors led off from the central room, most likely leading to a kitchen and the exit. Once, the room had been the central chamber for a penthouse apartment, and he could see that there was a time when it had been well decorated, the remnants of rotting wallpaper still hanging from the walls, and scraps of carpet in the corners. Those days were long past now, the only furniture in the room consisted of two high-backed leather chairs, the ancient leather cracked and torn, tufts of stuffing poking out, and a pool table against the back wall.

A man stood leaning against a pillar, a few metres away from him, his bare arms crossed in front of his chest. His get up was classical raider; all leather straps over trousers and a bare torso. A collection of knives hung from leather webbing over his chest, and a sawed-off shotgun was holstered at his left hip. His face was hidden by a goggled, leather mask that left his mouth clear. But he wasn't the one Morgan recognised. Probably the person who had brought him up to the apartment.

There was someone else standing in the room. He lounged indolently against the pool table. Gone were the Regulator clothing, replaced by leather trousers and jacket. A bandolier hung across his torso, filled with .32 rifle rounds for his hunting rifle.

"Leroy," Morgan said.

Leroy chuckled. "Got it in one. Gotta say, old man, you really are sharp." He pushed away from the pool table and sauntered over.

"I sent you on a mission, one that was your idea," Morgan uttered, his voice trailing off. His mind was reeling. "What happed to Gale and Ferris? Did you kill them?"

"Me, personally? No. Last I saw of Gale, a Deathclaw was tearing her guts out, while Ferris ran for the hills. I'd imagine it caught up with him and took care of him too. Tenacious bastards, Deathclaws. Especially if you starve it." Leroy reached behind him and slipped something onto his hand.

"You little fuck," Morgan snarled. He took a step forwards, all thought of pretending to be weak momentarily forgotten. All that mattered was beating the little punk to death. A loud click to his right brought Morgan back to his senses. A glance told him that the other in the room had pulled his shotgun, and was now aiming it at Morgan.

"Ah, ah, ah. You really shouldn't say such things, old man."

Despite his anger, Morgan saw Leroy's right hook coming a mile off, his shoulder giving a tell tale drop. He rolled with the punch, taking most of the force out of it. But he hadn't counted on the knuckleduster in his hand. The punch still spun him round, and sent him to his knees.

"Always hated you, you stuck up, arrogant, fucker! You never listened to my ideas, never even gave me a chance to prove I could lead your precious Regulators. And you planned to let your daughter take over instead? A fucking child?!" Leroy was screaming now. He raised his fist high. It started to fall.

"Stop!"

Leroy's fist had halved the distance when the command registered. He pulled the blow up short, and stepped back. Leroy was panting, and sweat was beginning to prick his brow.

"That is no way to treat our guest, Leroy. Go to the kitchen and have Gretchen make you a cold nuka cola. I don't want you back in this room until you have calmed yourself."

The ex-Regulator gave one curt nod, and stormed out.

The speaker stood on the balcony, dressed in a worn, but smart, business suit. As he made his way down the stairs, to stand before him, Morgan's eyes widen in shock.

His skin had sloughed off, leaving behind a patchwork of discoloured epidermis, all reds and blues and purples. All that remained of his nose was a small stub with two vertical slits. His lipless mouth was twisted in a half-smile. Tufts of grey hair sprouted from his scalp in small clumps. The Ghoul's features were unfamiliar to Morgan, but the eyes...

"I thought you were dead!"

"Yes, I imagine you did. But then, here I stand, fit and healthy. Well," he held up his left hand. The appendage was unmoving, fixed in a relaxed state, "mostly fit and healthy."

"The Mirelurks?" Morgan asked.

The man nodded once.

"I'm sorry, Robert. Had I known..."

Robert grunted. "Yes, I'm sure you and Charlie would have come back to save me. The great founder of the Regulators, who never lets his friends down. But you let me down, Morgan. I lay there, in that stinking pool, waiting for the mirelurks to finish me off, or for the fucking king to pick me up and carry me to his latest hatchlings. When they didn't come, I took my chance, and ran."

"They were too busy chasing me. I was halfway up the Potomac before I finally lost them."

"Yeah? Ain't that a crying shame. By the time I got out, my skin was already falling off. I got a lethal dose in that pool, but all it did was make a Ghoul out of me! Sticking me in this fucking half-life! And you go on to found the Regulators. I should have been a part of that, Morgan. So instead, I'm going to be a part of its ending." Robert turned to look over his shoulder at the door to the kitchen. "Leroy! Get your fucking ass out here."

"Yeah boss?"

"You want the girl. Have her. But don't kill her. She goes to the Falls in the morning."

Leroy shot a feral grin at Morgan, and gave him the finger before disappearing out of the apartment.

Morgan strained against his bonds. If he could break free, he was sure he could easily overpower Lee and his bodyguard, then he'd tear Leroy apart with his bare hand. A rage built up inside him. But the bonds held, and left it to smoulder impotently.

"I'm going to kill you, Robert," he growled.

Robert nodded at his guard. A vicious kick to the back of his knee knocked Morgan down to his knees. Robert bent down to look him in the eye.

"You know the best part about being a Ghoul, I'm going to outlive you by a long shot. But then, you're going to die, knowing that your daughter's being raped, and there ain't one thing you can do about it. Take him outside, kill him. Dump his body in the river." Robert turned and walked back up to the balcony.

Morgan felt hands under his armpits, and he was roughly hauled to his feet. "I'll kill you, Robert! I'll fucking kill you!"

Another guard joined the first to haul Morgan away. Despite his age, he had kept himself physically fit, even though he was no longer an active Regulator. He made them fight every step. Not as hard as he could. That would tip his hand too soon. If he was going to save Sonora, and kill Robert, then he had to time it just right. Then he heard the screams, and he knew they were coming from Sonora.

Morgan let out an inarticulate roar. All thoughts of biding his time were gone. His daughter needed him now.

"Stop it, you fucking prick," one of the guards said. "Nothing you can do about it!"

Morgan didn't hear him. Wouldn't have, even if he could.

The blow that silence him came out of nowhere, and knocked him out cold. He dropped like a boneless sack, limp in the guard's arms.

* * *

Morgan came to slowly, feeling a cool breeze on his face. He could smell the river, the scent driving him to full consciousness.

He was being dragged along by the two guards, and better, his hands were no longer bound behind him, instead hanging limp in front, though still bound at the wrist. The sound of the river was getting louder. Carrying him to the wharf, then.

It was time to make his move.

Morgan groaned. The guards slowed and stopped, then let go of his arms.

"Bout fuckin' time you came round," one said. "Y'can walk from here."

Morgan moved slowly, lifting himself into a crouch.

"Get up, you old bastard." The other said. He aimed a kick at Morgan's side. It never connected. Morgan moved fast, grabbing the foot. He stood, and pushed. The guard toppled backwards and fell. His head cracked on the hard pavement, and he lay still.

Morgan spun, bringing his own foot up to slam into the gut of the other guard. He collapsed in a heap, desperately trying to suck down air. Morgan's foot came down hard on his throat. There was a sharp crack, and the guard lay still. He bent over the corpse, running his hands over the body. He stopped when he felt the knife. Drawing it carefully, Morgan sliced off his bonds and flexed his fingers, feeling circulation returning to his hands.

Sliding the knife into his boot, Morgan bent back over the body and unclipped the submachine gun at the guard's left hip. He checked the clip. It was full. A further searched turned up two spare clips. He pocketed those. It was time to rescue his daughter.

There was a shout from down the road. Then bullets struck the pavement around him. Morgan dived for cover.

He cursed. There must have been a guard on duty at the door to Lee's building. More were streaming out of the entrance, heading for him. There was no way he was going to get back in there, not with all of them after him.

Morgan popped up, and fired a burst from his SMG. One of the guards went down. The others scattered. Morgan ejected the spent clip and inserted a fresh one. He had to make a run for it. He cursed himself. "I'm going to save you, Sonora, I promise."

Morgan burst from his cover. He fired the SMG on full auto. He wasn't aiming to kill, just distract. He ran for all he was worth.

The first shot hit him in the shoulder and spun him round. Morgan cried out as he hit the ground. He pushed himself back up, and ran.

He made it three steps. Rifle fire struck him in the back. They burst out of his chest, barely slowed. Morgan lurched, his body juddering under the blows. Another bullet struck him in the arm. Then another in the leg, and he went down.

Morgan was near the edge of the Potomac River, when he fell. He tumbled over the edge and into the river.

By the time the guards reached the water's edge, his body was gone, sank into the murky depths of the river.

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	6. Megaton

**Megaton**

"Well, fuck me. Good t'see you again Ferris. Been what, a year since you last came through here?" Lucas Simms said.

"Eight months," Ferris said. He shook hands with the Sheriff of Megaton, then after a moment, the two grinned and Lucas encircled his old friend in a bear hug. Ferris groaned as he felt a sharp stab of pain from his arm and his numerous bruises. Lucas had a hug strong enough to satisfy a Yao Guai.

Katrina stood quietly next to them, then cleared her throat.

"An' who're you, darlin'? New recruit?" Lucas asked. His eyes ran up and down, assessing her. Katrina blushed at the frank, hard gaze, suddenly wishing she had kept her mouth shut.

"K-Katrina Saul, Regulator."

"Morgan's recruiting them young now, ain't he?"

"She's good. Trustworthy" Ferris answered.

Lucas grunted. "High praise from you."

The three of them stood at the entrance to Megaton. Behind them the metal gates dropped back into place.

Megaton occupied a crater just west of the Potomac River, from a commercial plane crash during the war, a victim of one of many electromagnetic pulses. An undetonated nuclear bomb sat in the middle of the crater. The bomb had been a dud, and it still sat in the centre of Megaton, a constant and dangerous reminder of the last war. But the crater had provided excellent shelter from the winds and radiation, and over the years, a settlement had built up as civilisation, in some form or other, returned to Washington. The buildings had been made out of whatever material was at hand at the time; sheet metal, burnt out cars and buses, even the fuselage from the crashed plane. They stuck out of the sides of the crater in tiers, supported on rusted iron girders for stilts.

"So what brings you to my town?"

"Regulator business." Ferris answered.

Lucas caught the tone. He eyeballed his old friend, and scratched his greying beard. "Alright, follow me. I know somewhere we can talk, quiet like."

Lucas led Ferris and Katrina down partway into the crater, and stepped off the path to the centre. There were several buildings at the mid level, built on metal platforms. Lucas took them into the first. The decor was sparse, bare metal walls and cabinets. An old war poster hung on one wall, and beneath it sat a baby's crib, a tattered teddy bear propped up in one corner.

"Honey, that you?" Came a woman's voice from upstairs. Martia Simms appeared on the landing and peered down the stairs. She smiled when she saw Ferris. "Oh, hi Ferris."

"Hi Martia. Lucas treating you well?"

She grinned impishly down at her husband "Mostly. He sleeps a lot though."

Lucas grunted. "You would too, town full o' fucking morons keepin' you busy. Martia, you mind stayin' upstairs? Got Regulator business."

"Sure, honey. Good seeing you again, Ferris."

Lucas waited until his wife shut the door to the upstairs bedroom, and turned on Ferris. "Alright, boy, what the fuck's goin' on?"

"The Headquarters was attacked, about six days ago. Charlie's dead."

Lucas' eyes widened in shock. "Morgan? Sonora?"

"Don't know. Their bodies weren't at the farmhouse, so unless they were killed somewhere else, they were probably captured."

"Morgan I understand,' Katrina said. "I mean, he's our leader. You take him, there's no one else in charge. But Sonora? She's just a kid!"

"Leverage," Lucas muttered. "Morgan'd do anythin' for that girl. Okay, so that explains what's goin' on, but what brings you here? Why ain't you tracking the bastards down?"

"We did," Ferris said. He sighed and leaned against the tabletop. "We followed their tracks as far as the Potomac, but they stopped at a riverboat dock. We reckon they took some sort of boat across, but they could've landed anywhere down river. That's a lot of real estate to explore, and we don't have much time."

Lucas nodded. "So you figured you'd speak to Moriarty. Man's got his fingers in a lotta pies, that's for sure."

"Exactly. If anyone's going to know what's happening in DC, it's him"

"Ain't no doubt about that. One question Ferris. Who hit the farmhouse?"

"The Talons."

Lucas growled. "Fucking bastard mercs. Shoulda hit their base a long time ago. Yeah, he'll know something about the hit, that's for sure."

"Oh?" Katrina asked. "What makes you so sure?"

"Cause there's a Talon stayin' at Moriarty's Saloon right now. Arrived maybe a day or two ago. Been Spending caps like they were going outta fashion, bragging about some massive hit him and his pals did for a guy. Shacked up half the time with Renne. Typical merc bragging, so didn't think much of it. You two come with me. Time we asked the little punk some questions."

Moriarty's Saloon had been built on the top tier of buildings sticking out of the crater wall. Decades of addition and rebuilds had made sure that it was now an integral part of the structure, supporting the buildings beneath it. The interior itself was fairly small; an L-shaped bar took up the centre, with small booths and tables along the walls. Stairs led up to guest rooms, and there was a small room at the back for the resident prostitute. Like the rest of Megaton, the bar was a haphazard construction of sheet metal and girders welded together into some form of dwelling. Lights were strung from the ceiling, only serving to add to the murky atmosphere.

The bar was mostly empty, with only a few patrons propped up at the bar, and another sat at one of the private booths with a blonde-haired woman. The ghoul barman, was cleaning a beer glass with a dirty rag, a mournful look creasing his ruined face.

All of the patrons looked up as the three entered, and just as quickly went back to their own business. No one wanted to get involved in anything Sheriff Simms was a part of; that was the quickest way to get yourself dead. Especially if it was another dispute between Simms and Moriarty.

"Afternoon, Sheriff," The barman muttered. "Your usual?"

"Not today, Gob. You got a Talon merc stayin' here. Where is he?"

Gob shrugged. His eyes flicked up once, and went straight back to staring at the glass in his hands. "Ain't got no clue."

Lucas leaned on the bar, Ferris and Katrina moved over to one of the tables by the door. "I know he's still here, you fuckin' ghoul, so don't try getting cute with me. Where's Moriarty? I wanna talk to him."

Gob looked up at Lucas then, and Ferris could see the fear in his eyes. "Not here. Look, the boss gets pissed if I talk to customers too much. I don't know where he is, Sheriff, and that's the truth. Maybe you should ask Renne, she was with him last."

Lucas stared at the barman for a few seconds, and finally nodded slowly. "I reckon that's the longest speech I ever heard from you, Gob. Okay, I believe you. Wont whisper a word of this to Moriarty," he said, tapping the side of his nose conspiratorially. He turned away and joined Ferris and Katrina at the table. "Just gotta know how to work them in this place. Renne's the blonde at the booth. She's a sly one, but she'll tell you what you need. Be cheaper than asking Moriarty too. Look," Lucas added, glancing at his watch. "I gotta get back to Martia. You let me know what's going down, yeah? I want a piece of the action when you find Morgan and Sonora."

Ferris nodded. "I will. Thanks for your help, Lucas. Been good seeing you again."

"You too," he replied, standing. "Stop by at the house when you leave. Martia'll want to say goodbye."

When the door closed behind Lucas, Katrina turned to face Ferris. "You're not going to tell him, are you?" she said when she saw the pensive expression on his face.

"No. Lucas was one of the best Regulators. Morgan always had a high opinion of him. Never was a harder bastard in all of DC. But he's got a family now, and responsibility. That means something, and there's no way I'm going to take that from him."

Katrina nodded. "Okay. So, how do you want to play this?"

Ferris grinned at her.

Renne was an attractive young woman, in her mid twenties. Her blonde hair had been trimmed short and ragged, and made her more girly and sexy, an effect enhanced by the skin-tight leathers she wore that left little to the imagination. And from what Ferris could see of her, sat at the booth, she kept herself trim and fit.

The look she directed at Ferris when he moved to stand at the table she shared with her prospective client was at once both assessing and interested. "Yes?"

"Get lost," Ferris said, glancing at her customer. An out of town hick, by the look of him, dressed in dirty dungarees over an equally dirty shirt. His hair and beard were long and ragged.

"Fuck you." The man snarled. He pulled a knife and laid it on the table. "I'm busy here."

Ferris shifted his duster, hooking it behind the holster strapped to his right thigh. He rested his hand on the grip of his pistol. He still hadn't managed to replace his rifle, but at least the headquarters still had the supplies he'd needed to repair his 10mm pistol. He made a mental note to stop at Craterside Supply to get a new rifle. "Put the pig sticker away, boy. I don't want to have to show you how to use it."

The man started to slide out of the booth and reached for his knife. He'd barely got halfway when Ferris' hand shot out and grabbed him round the throat. He hauled him the rest of the way and threw him to the floor. With a roar of hurt pride, the hick surged back to his feet. Only to freeze when Ferris' pistol pressed into his forehead. There was an ominous click as he cocked the hammer.

"I wont ask you again," Ferris said quietly. "Get lost."

Raising his hands up, the hick slowly stood and backed out of the saloon. Ferris heard him running the second the door shut. He grinned and slid his pistol back into its holster. It was a very dishonourable thing, just the sort that Morgan had trained him not to do, but it did feel good. Then the thought of Morgan reminded him of the reason why he was here in the first place, and the grin slid from his face. He turned back to Renne.

"Mind if I sit down?"

"Don't see why not. You scared off my last customer. Suppose I should thank you though. God knows what I would've caught with him. I need a bath just thinking about it. Renne said, as Ferris sat down opposite her.

"Is the tub big enough for two?"

She grinned sweetly at him. "That's extra honey, and somehow, I don't think you're buying. Not a Regulator like you. But what you do want, that'll cost you. I got ears," she added, seeing the look on his face.

Ferris smiled wryly. So much for the tactful approach. Not that it bothered him. True, Renne was damn pretty, but the look in her eyes was enough to put him off. She was far too worldly-wise someone her age had any right to be. He waved Katrina over. Now she was a fine figure of a woman. Though her long hair was tied back, two strands had been left free to frame her heart-shaped face, and whilst set in a hard line now, her mouth had an easy, infectious smile. Her green eyes had an edge of hardness to them, but she was still innocent in her own way.

The thoughts made for a nice, idle day dream, but at the quizzical look she shot him, Ferris pushed them aside to concentrate on the task in hand.

Renne glanced at both of them. "A threesome, huh? Kinda kinky for my liking, but if you've got the caps."

"Not interested," Katrina said. "We're looking for a man. A Talon."

"What, is he not man enough for you? Bit small where it counts, honey?"

"That's not, I mean that none of your -!" Katrina squawked.

Ferris chuckled. "That information's not free, huh? I guess you've been spending plenty of time with Moriarty?"

Renne winked at him. "You stay here long enough, you pick up a thing or two, sweetie. And I don't plan on staying here forever."

"So how much?"

"Three hundred, straight up. You don't pay, I don't say."

"Three hundred! Just for some information on a guy's location? That's extortion!" Katrina yelled.

Ferris shot her a look to shut her up. A lot of innocence, he decided. He leaned forwards and rested his arms on the table. "My friend's got a point. That's a lot just to confirm he's here. We could just bust into the room and find out that way."

"He sleeps with a shotgun under the pillow. He'll fill you full of lead before you can even get through the door."

'So he is still here then. Is that concern I hear?'

"Lawrence's a customer who pays well. And I'd prefer you don't bust down my door. Moriarty'll only add it to my rent." Renne sighed. "Alright. Two fifty."

Ferris took out his pouch and opened the tie. Caps poured onto the table. "Where is he?"

"Upstairs, door on the right. He should still be sleeping, after all the beer he drank last night. Couldn't even get it up," she scoffed, scooping up the caps. Nova thrust them into her pockets. "Door's locked though. He keeps the key with him."

"That wont be a problem. Thanks for the info."

"Anytime. And next time you come here, Regulator, leave the girl behind."

Katrina opened her mouth angrily, but before she could say anything, Ferris pulled her out of the booth, and up the stairs.

"That little _cull_. What did she mean by that? And what's she going to do with all that cash?"

Ferris glanced at her in surprise. He realised he still had his hand around her upper arm and let go. "Don't be so naive, Katrina. Do you really think she wants to be a prostitute for the rest of her life? She probably ran away from home, and like everyone else in DC, is doing what she can to survive."

"But –"

"Leave it, will you. She doesn't matter."

Katrina's mouth snapped shut with an audible click. Somehow, he knew, this conversation wasn't quite done just yet.

There was only one door shut upstairs, the other left partly ajar, revealing small chambers taken up by a double bed and wardrobe scavenged from one of the many nearby abandoned houses.

Katrina moved to stand with her back to the wall, and drew her sub machine gun. She spared a glance down towards the stairs, and nodded; still clear.

Ferris crouched by the lock, and took out a bobby pin and screwdriver.

"Didn't they used to call this, you know, breaking and entering, before the war?" Katrina whispered.

"Yep," he replied, shifting the bobby pin around. He turn the screwdriver, and stopped when he felt resistance on the pin.

"Then we'd be breaking the law."

"Except, DC has no law. Except us. Kinda."

"But," she persisted, "Aren't we supposed to rise above this sort of thing?"

"If this guy is one of the attackers, then he's got some serious questions to answers, and I don't think we've time for niceties. You getting cold feet?"

She winced. "No, but how do we know he was involved? We just have the Sheriff's word."

"Well, we ask him, nicely. If he's not, then he gets on with his life, a little bit disgruntled, but alive." Ferris twisted the lock with the screwdriver. The lock clicked open.

"And if he was?"

"Then," Ferris said, standing. "He'll find out that it's a bad idea to fuck with the Regulators." He drew his pistol.

The door opened quietly, with barely a creak. It was dark in the room, the light off and curtains drawn over the window. But Ferris could still make out the dark figure standing in one corner, hand pointed at him.

"Shit!" Ferris dived towards the bed.

The shotgun blast was deafening in the small space. Pellets peppered the wall, sending out a spray of sparks where they struck. Ferris suppressed a cry as he landed, jarring his arm. Ignoring the pain he fired his pistol blindly. Then ducked back as another shotgun blast boomed. Feathers and fabric exploded as the blast tore into the mattress.

There was a crash, and the room brightened. The Talon had dived through the window.

Ferris scrambled to his feet. "Cut him off!" He shouted. He didn't wait for a reply, and jumped out the window after the fleeing merc. He regretted it an instant later.

The window looked out on one of the ramps to the upper tier, a drop of a good ten feet. His stomach dropped as he plummeted. Then instinct took over. He rolled as he hit the ground, coming out on his feet. It was far less painful than the fall a few days ago, but it still forced the air from his lungs. Ferris gasped as he came to his feet.

He cast around. There. The Talon was running down a connecting metal walkway. He'd picked up a limp, and it was slowing him. Ferris saw the reason; there was blood on the ramp, leading off in the direction the Talon was going. He'd hurt himself, going out the window.

Still, there was no way Ferris was going to catch him. He aimed his pistol, and fired two shots. Both missed, ricocheting off the banister lining the walkway. People started screaming as they heard the gunfire, scattering.

"Fuck," he spat, and gave chase.

The merc turned, and fired his shotgun. Ferris ducked. The shot was wide. Someone behind him cried out in pain.

There was no way they were going to get to the Talon. He'd already reached the bottom of the ramp to the central plaza, and was making his way up the side of the crater to the gates. Out of the corner of his eye, Ferris saw Katrina running along the walkway on the other side of the plaza. She was fast, but there was no way she was going to reach Lawrence in time.

Chances were, if he made it out the gates, they'd either lose him in the wasteland, or corner him, and he'd die before telling them what they needed to know.

Lucas Simms stepped out onto the path. His assault rifle was cradled in his arms, pointed at Lawrence.

The Talon brought up his shotgun. Lucas fired. The burst hit him in the side, sending Lawrence spinning to land on his back, his shotgun clattering away back down the hill.

By the time Ferris and Katrina reached them, Lucas had one foot on the merc's chest, the barrel of his rifle pointed unwaveringly at his face. Lawrence was panting, his face slick and pale. There was a blade of glass sticking out of his leg.

"You're getting slow, Mars. Almost lost this little fuck."

"Yeah," Ferris said, between breaths. "Guess I'm just not as good as you, old man."

Lucas grunted. "You shot up my town," he said to the merc. "Right now, I'd normally be blowing your brains clean out your fucking skull. But we got some questions for you." He took his foot off Lawrence's chest, and hauled him to his feet. "Let's go have a talk, somewhere quiet."

Springvale had once been a vibrant little community, just near one of the main roads into Washington DC. Then the bombs fell, and all that changed. Many of the residents retreated into the nearby vault to wait out the radiation, until the time came that they could rebuild society. As far as anyone knew, they were still waiting; vault 101 hadn't been opened for a hundred and fifty years. The town was a ruined shadow of its former self. Skeletal remains of blasted buildings, and down towards the river, the ruins of the old school were a haunt for Raiders.

Once out the gates, Lucas prodded Lawrence in the back, and the four headed down into the ruins of suburbia. It took a while, Lawrence capable of only a shuffling pace with his injured legs. He guided the Talon into the wreckage of the closest house.

"That's far enough." Lucas said.

"I ain't telling you nothing." Lawrence spat. The defiance would've been more effective, except for the fear in his eyes.

"Oh, I think you're wrong there," Ferris growled. "Who hired you to attack the Regulators."

"Don't know nothing about that."

"I lost a good friend when you bastards decided to attack us. And two others are missing. You think playing it dumb's going to help you?" He crouched down beside Lawrence. "Word to the wise. The Talons messed with the wrong folks. We've tolerated your kind long enough."

"I don't know anything! Was just words, okay? I heard about the attack, from some of the others. Thought I could use the info, big it up, Yeah? I wasn't there!"

"Now I know you're lying. Way I here it, you were one hell of a big spender in town. You were throwing around plenty of caps. Isn't that right, Lucas?"

Lucas nodded. "Sure is, you little fuck. Where are they?"

"I don't know!"

Ferris grabbed the shard of glass in his leg, and twisted. Lawrence screamed.

"For a big bad Talon, you sure are a pussy." Lucas said.

Katrina paled. She put a hand over her mouth, then turned and walked out of the ruins, out of sight.

The scream died down to a whimper. Ferris twisted the glass again, eliciting a moan. "Who hired you?"

"Man, a ghoul, has a place down by the river, east side. In one of the old apartment buildings." He described the building. "Old friend, he said."

Ferris stood. "Any guards? Has he hired the Talons for protection?"

Lawrence shook his head. "Got his own men. Well armed."

"You've been real helpful, Lawrence." He gestured to Lucas and turned to leave.

"Wait! You can't leave me here?"

"Why not?" Ferris asked, looking back at Lawrence. The boy was getting more pale, and sweat slicked his face. He probably didn't have long left.

"You wont find them there. The old man, the ghoul had him taken out, and he sent the girl to Paradise Falls." He chuckled, and quickly devolved into a coughing fit. "A little Regulator turned fuck slave. Now, help me."

Ferris looked down at him. The Talon was pathetic. "You killed one of my friends. You were a part of this, _thing_, that put someone I care about in the hands of slavers. What the fuck makes you think I'm going to help you now? Then again," he reached down and yanked the blade of glass out of Lawrence's leg, and dropped it in his lap. He didn't even flinch. "There. That's all the help I'm going to give you."

Ferris turned and walked out of the ruins. He found Katrina not far away, hunched over a mail box. He put his hand on her back.

"I'm sorry, Ferris," she said, lifting her head and smiling weakly at him. "Kill a man in defence, sure. Ditto if he's about to kill someone, but that? That was horrible. I just, I couldn't..."

"It's okay, Katrina. Not everyone can deal with torture."

She ran a hand through her hair and studied him for a moment. "And you can?"

Ferris shrugged. "That bastard was one of the ones who attacked our home. You buried one of our friends. I've got no sympathy for him, or any of his kind. I'll do whatever's needed to get back Morgan and Sonora."

"If they're still alive. I heard what he said."

"I'll find them. I want you to go back to Megaton with Lucas. I've got something I want you to do."

"What! You can't just send me away. I've got a part in this!"

"Will you just listen? I need you to get a message out to the other Regulators, we need to call everyone."

"And what are you going to do?" Lucas asked, beating Katrina to the question.

"I'm going to Paradise Falls."

Lucas laughed. "To do what? Rescue Sonora on your own?"

"No. That slaver den is too well defended. I'm going to find her, and track her when she's taken away by her buyer. That'll be our best chance to get her back."

Lucas and Katrina stared at him in silence. Lucas was the first to speak.

"Could work. We can be waiting for you a few miles out from Paradise Falls, hit them in the wastes. Alright, I'm in, Ferris. Megaton can survive without me for a few days."

"No." Katrina said.

"No?" Ferris asked.

"You need to see the doc first, and get a new gun, if I remember. If I'm not going with you, you'll need to be well armed."

He grinned at her. She was determined. Practical too, he thought. "Alright, alright. And Lucas, I'll let you tell you're wife that you wont be around for a few days."

Lucas grimaced. "Think I'd rather face a hundred supermutants."

"That's why I'm not telling her."

As they made their way back to the town, Ferris started to put together his plan to rescue Sonora.

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	7. Interlude 02

**Interlude 02**

She couldn't remember. _Who am I? Where am I?_

Familiarity was slow in coming. It was her limbs she remembered first; how to move them, the flexing and curling of her fingers and toes, the bending of her knees and elbows. Everything else took longer.

She ached, an all-over body bruise. She felt like she'd been beaten with the business end of a baseball bat. Hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough to break any bones.

For a moment, she remembered a shouted, angry voice. It had come from only a few inches in front of her face. There was movement associated with that voice. Back and forth. Back and forth. Revulsion rose, and she forced the memory away.

"Hey, she's awake," a voice said. It was female, the tone soft but croaked with age.

She groaned and opened her eyes. Then wished she hadn't. She was in a room, lit only by a few narrow shafts of light from bordered up windows. It wasn't really enough to see by; she could make out shadowy forms of other people in the room with her, but little more. There were at least a dozen others, mostly women from the hushed tones and whimpers she could hear.

One of the forms approached her as she sat up, then suddenly wished she hadn't. Her ass hurt, and the muscles of her inner thighs ached abominably.

"You alright, dearie?" The form asked. It was the same soft tone. The woman crouched down next to her, and reached out to put a hand on her shoulder. She flinched reflexively, and the hand was withdrawn. "Sorry. Name's Gerty. I guess they treated you rough, eh? Do you know where you are?"

She shrugged. "No."

Gerty sighed. "You poor thing. You're in the Falls, in one of the slave pens. I am sorry, dearie."

"But, how did I get here? I, I don't remember." That wasn't quite true, she told herself. She remembered being in a small room, hog tied next to her father, then men took him away and left her there. Everything was a little hazy after that. "My dad. Have you seen my dad?"

"No. Do you know if they brought him here too?"

"I, I don't... No, I..."

"That's okay. He's probably in the male pens. The Black Widow likes to keep the men and women folk separate, you see. What's your name, dearie?"

"Sonora."

Her voice froze in her throat. She remembered then. She remembered everything.

Leroy.

The rape.

Everything.

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	8. Fallen Paradise

**Fallen Paradise**

"Hey, buddy, you got a light?"

"Wha-?"

His fist caught the man hard in the face, breaking his nose and spinning him round. He dropped to the floor, unconscious before he hit. Ferris spared a quick glance around to make sure the coast was clear, and dragged the man off the road and down the embankment. He grunted as he lifted him onto his shoulders, and made his way up a narrow path to a shack, hidden in the lee of an outcrop.

Ferris dropped the body onto the bed in the front room, and placed two fingers to his throat. His pulse was thready, but strong. Out, but he'll live, Ferris decided, which was more than he deserved. He didn't recognise him, but Ferris knew the type. Slaver

Checking the man's clothes, he found little but a pass to Paradise falls in one back pocket, and a half-full hip flask in another. A pair of slave collars were clipped to his belt. The only other item the man was carrying was a rusty sawed-off shotgun. Ferris chucked that; the weapon was next to useless, more than likely to misfire than work.

Satisfied that he carried nothing else of worth, Ferris stripped the unconscious man, then tied him to the bed frame. He picked up the bundle of clothes, and moved into the back room and grimaced. They smelled disgusting.

Still, He thought, they were better than nothing. And the man had been the first lone individual on the road to Paradise Falls in the past few days. Ferris sighed.  
They were better than nothing, and there was no way he could get into the place dressed like a Regulator. They slavers would shoot him on sight. Best get it over with.

He dropped his weapons on the bed and removed his normal clothes, stuffing them into the bottom drawer of the wardrobe in the back room. Then he pulled on the slaver's clothes; worn leather trousers tucked into a pair of heavy boots, and a black leather jacket over a much-patched red sweater. The grimace came back. The clothes felt disgusting.

Ferris bent to pick up his weapons and paused. They wouldn't be recognised that's for certain, but the slavers would most likely be confiscating any weapons at the entrance. Retrieving them would be difficult. Crouching down, he pulled up a section of the floorboards, laid his rifle and pistol down, and placed the boards back over them. He strapped his combat knife back on and went back into the front room.

The slaver was awake. He glared at Ferris.

"Fucking let me go, you freak!"

"Now that's not a nice thing to say," Ferris said, picking up the shotgun from where he'd thrown it. He snorted in disgust. The weapon really was next to useless. "What sort of slaver are you, carrying around a weapon in this condition? You trying to get yourself killed?" He shoved the shotgun into his thigh holster.

"Ain't got the caps to fix it." The salver replied defensively. "You gonna kill me, or just insult me?"

Ferris shrugged. "By rights, I should kill you. Washington would be a better place without filth like you. But, you're in luck. I don't like killing in cold blood. So, when I'm done, I'm going to let you go. You might want to spend that time rethinking your choice of career."

"Hey, how long you gonna be gone. Hey! You can't just leave me here!"

Ferris shut the door to the shack behind him, muffling the shouts.

Returning to the road, he started walking in the direction of Paradise Falls. The sun was creeping up over the horizon, bringing a chilly dawn to the wasteland. Long shadows striped the unregulated browns and greys with darker shades, tinged a burnished gold.

It could almost be beautiful, Ferris decided, despite the starkness. Except for the constant threat of death, and the burnt out car wrecks, and the radioactive pools, he added ruefully.

Then he remembered why he was there, and the momentary appreciation was gone, his eyes scanning for danger. The last thing he wanted was to bump into another Deathclaw. Especially not with just a rusty old shotgun for defence. Ferris shuddered and kept walking.

* * *

Paradise Falls.

The slaver compound had been a blight on the Wasteland for as long as Ferris could remember, but it was far too well defended for the Regulators to take it out. Instead, they'd hit the slaver caravans whenever they could, taking them out and setting the captives free. Then the slavers would beef up their guards, making it harder and harder for the Regulators to hit them successfully. There just weren't enough Regulators, so inevitably most got through.

One day though, they would wipe their kind out, and the small homesteads and undefended towns would no longer have the threat of slavery hanging over them, Ferris vowed.

He joined the queue forming outside the entrance to Paradise Falls, a long line of people waiting to be admitted into the compound. All of them buyers. Ferris cursed. He hadn't expected a big event. Slave trades were usually a low key affair, a few buyers coming in to pick over the selection of slaves, never a massive event with hundreds of people. This was the sort of thing the Regulators were supposed to watch out for. But no one had many any such report. At least, Ferris supposed, not that he'd heard of. But then, the past week had been quite eventful, after all. Maybe someone had made a report, but no one had got a chance to read it.

Not everyone was from the DC area, Ferris could see from the attire some waiting to go in were wearing. A few were from the Pitt, probably here to get some replacements for their workforce. One person, a few down from Ferris, was dressed in an old business suit that strained over his bulk. He carried a cane in one hand, and a fur cape was draped over his shoulders. He was balding on top, his thinning black hair arranged in an attempt to cover his baldness. And failed miserably. He wasn't someone Ferris recognised, but from the look of him, either he was some sort of major player, or wannabe.

From out of town? He wondered.

"Name?"

Ferris turned his head. The entrance guard was looking at him with a bored expression. There was a table before him, already laden with several rifles, shotguns and pistols. Behind him another of the slavers stood there with his hand resting on the grip of his SMG.

"Naylor Jones," Ferris replied, handing over the pass. The guard took it without a word.

"No weapons allowed." The guard added as Ferris started to move away from the entrance.

"Yeah? And what am I supposed to do if someone gets cute with me? Use harsh language?" He put the shotgun on the table.

"You can keep the knife. We always like a good knife fight. Solves a lot of disputes."

"Thanks," Ferris growled, and walked away.

He headed deeper into the compound, following the path past stacked arrays of sandbags, and cunningly placed wooden screens. They were another layer of defence, arranged to bottle any attempted invasion. You'd have no choice but to follow the path the slavers dictated, and most likely get cut down before you were halfway to the inner part of the compound by the defenders. Ferris walked past the scrutinising gaze of two slavers, both carrying assault rifles, and through the main gates into the main slave compound proper.

In a perverse sense of irony, the slavers had chosen the ruins of an old shopping centre for their compound. It was laid out with a roughly circular perimeter, the remaining buildings that had once housed shops pre war, converted into facilities for the slavers, from an armoury to med-centre and even a bar. A lookout tower had been built to one side, near the old cinema. Another slaver stood watch as the potential buyers filtered over to the slave market at the other end, cradling a mini gun.

Ferris looked up. Above, a gigantic, ruined statue of a boy loomed over the central compound, holding an ice cream cone in one hand. The other arm had fallen off long ago, and now birds flocked around it. The sign for an old, pre war ice cream parlour, he wondered. Then there was cheering from ahead, bringing his focus back down to earth. Ferris pushed his way through the crowd towards the front.

Two people in the crowd were fighting, attacking each other with short blade and baton. A circle of onlookers had formed around them, encouraging the two combatants, and exchanging bets. Suddenly the knifeman darted in. His knife aimed for a disembowelling cut. His opponent blocked the strike, but not fast enough. He cried out as the knife scored a line across his side. He lashed out with a savage backhand, hitting the knifeman on the temple. There was a wet _crack_ as the baton struck, and Ferris winced. The knifeman was dead before he hit the floor. Around the circle, people groaned and handed over caps. Two slavers elbowed their way through and dragged off the body of the loser.

Beyond the edge of the crowd, beside the circular stand where the slaves would be presented for auction, a woman stood up on a small podium, raising her above the level of the crowd. She was middle-aged, her scraggy hair tied back in a loose ponytail. Dressed in tight black leathers, a pair of 10mm pistols were holstered on both hips. The Black Widow, Penelope Chase, Ferris thought. If he had a high powered rifle, he could take down the leader of the slavers here and now. And then some how fight his way out of a crowd of a hundred people, all baying for his blood while the slaver with the mini gun slaughtered them.

Another time.

"Are you finished with your fun, gentlemen?" Penelope asked. "Good. I've some nice new blood for you today. Ripe pickings from Little Lamp Light, and Big Town, and some extra special extras. Bring out the first."

A young woman, barely out of her teens was dragged out of the slave pens. She had been shoved into an old summer dress, a slave collar was firmly clamped around her neck. She flinched as she saw the crowd before her, and made to cover herself with her skinny arms. She looked utterly terrified.

The bidding didn't last long. Half a dozen buyers fought over her, until an old man won, outbidding the others at twelve hundred caps. The girl was pushed off the stand and taken down to her new owner.

After the girl came a parade of other slaves; captured wastelanders still in their survival clothes, sans gear, standing proudly, more likely to run at the first opportunity than accept their new existence; bewildered girls like the first, some young, suited to nothing more than household slaves, others older, stripped to their underclothes – they would be sold to out of town brothels, or to the rich customers for their own personal use. There were even a few ghouls, but the bidding dropped each time one was dragged out, selling for a few hundred caps.

Ferris felt his stomach tighten each time a girl was brought out, expecting her to be Sonora, and each time it relaxed only a little. He wanted to lash out, to stop all of it. Each slave sold was another person's loved one lost, and it sickened him. But there was nothing he could do, not surrounded by the buyers, and the heavily armed slavers.

One day, He promised, Paradise Falls would be brought down.

Eventually, the last slave was taken from the stand. Penelope Chase smiled down at the crowd indulgently. She'd made a killing with this crop of slaves. "One last item for you, gentlemen. We thought you might like the irony this slave, so I decided to save the best for last." She waved, and two slavers dragged one more slave out of the pen.

She was dressed in plain coveralls, dirty and sweat-stained, and hung limply between the two big, burly men carrying her.

Ferris felt his heart skip.

"She might look young, but this girl's one of the Regulators. The bane of our lives. Presented to us by one of our benefactors, I'll open bidding at two thousand caps."

The crowd erupted into a roar of furious bidding. Ferris didn't notice. His eyes were fixed on the girl's limp form. She was still wearing the clothes he'd last seen her in, her now filthy hair tied back in a rough knot, with strands hanging down, and obscuring her features, but he still recognised her.

Look up, Ferris silently implored Sonora.

After a few moments, as if she'd heard him, Sonora lifted her head to stare at the crowd before her. Ferris was shocked at the blank look she gave them. Her eyes were glassy and dazed, as if she was staring, but not seeing. A bruise marred one cheek. She'd been treated rough, that was for certain.

Ferris let out a little growl of anger. He ignored the funny look the man next to him gave.

Sonora had been like a little sister to him, the only family he'd ever really had. He swore terrible vengeance on the people who'd done this to her.

Without thinking, he took an involuntary step forwards.

"I don't think so," a voice behind him said. Ferris felt the barrel of a gun jab into his back. "Let's not make a scene, yeah?"

Ferris stilled his hand from his knife. He relaxed and suppressed a smile.

"Very good," the man behind him said, just loud enough to be heard over the crowd. "Now let's go, this way." He prodded Ferris in the direction he wanted to go with the gun. Ferris started walking.

They moved slowly through the crowd, until they reached its perimeter. Ahead, two slavers with combat shotguns were standing either side of a door into one of the periphery buildings. One of them nodded to the man behind Ferris, and opened the door.

"Inside."

Ferris did as he was told, and walked through the open door. The ceiling had collapsed a long time ago, leaving a high-ceilinged main room, ragged around the perimeter of the wall where the first floor had once been. Shafts of light pierced the gloom, illuminating a floor that was more moss and lichen.

The grin he'd been suppressing finally split his face, and Ferris turned to face his escort. "Glad to see you're okay."

Leroy holstered his revolver. "Yeah, I thought you were dead."

"Reports of my death were greatly exaggerated."

How'd you get away from that Deathclaw?"

Ferris shook his head. "I nearly didn't. Fucking kept coming for me, like it was possessed, or something. Hit the bastard thing with a mini nuke."

"Where the hell you get one of those?" Leroy asked, his eyebrow's shooting up.

His grin widened. "One of Morgan's caches."

"Ah. Real shame, that."

"What about you? How'd you get away?"

"I got lucky."

"How so?"

"Well, after that fucking thing killed Gale, it went for the Raiders. Tore through the poor fuckers like wet paper. It was unreal. Ran for it before it even smelled me. Heard it roar, but it was real distant. Must've been after you by then."

Ferris nodded. "And you went back to the farmhouse? I take it you've been trying to hunt down the people who hit us?"

"Funny story, that." Leroy grinned, then glanced down at his boots. He took several steps closer to him.

Ferris frowned. He'd seen Leroy look down like that before. He always did it when he was avoiding a subject, or lying. "What's so funny about that?"

"See, I ain't been hunting down the folks who hit the farmhouse."

"Wha-"

The blow caught him completely off guard. It struck his chin harder than it should, and snapped back his head. Ferris flew backwards and slammed into the wall behind him. He smacked his head. Dazed, he slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. Blood dribbled from the corners of his mouth. His vision hazed red. He could barely make out any details, except Leroy. He stayed sharp.

Leroy stood over Ferris, a sneer curling his mouth. He worked a pair of brass knuckledusters off his hand and slipped them into a pocket. "You always were a stupid, uptight shithead, Ferris. Get in here," he called out.

The door opened again, and the two slavers who'd stood guard sauntered in. They aimed their rifles at Ferris' limp form.

"We got another Regulator Penelope can sell off as a slave."

"This one's too old," one of the guards said. "Ain't much of a market. Boss lady says she wants him sent to the Pitt."

"You hear that, Ferris? You're no use except to mine shit for the rest of your days." He crouched down next to him. "You want to know something else. _I_ hit the farm. And oh yeah, I had me a piece of that precious little girl, Sonora. She was a sweet little fuck."

His vision was almost completely black now. He could barely make out Leroy. "Bastard," he mumbled.

The last thing he heard before oblivion claimed him, was laughter.

* * *

**A/N: And now things are going to get interesting. Review please!**


	9. Unexpected Detour

**A/N: Hi everyone! Apologies for the delay in uploading the next chapter. To make up for it, here's two new chapters in Ferris' story. Enjoy!**

**Unexpected Detour**

Life is full of lots of little surprises, Ferris thought sourly. And not all of them good.

He didn't remember much from the past few days, since Leroy had decked him, the time passing in a blur. A bag had been shoved over his head, and his hands tied behind his back, that much he knew, and he still had the purple weals on his wrists. After being tied up, the slavers had taken him from Paradise Falls, throwing him into the back of a truck. It had been a long drive in darkness, bumping around in the back of the truck. When it stopped, Ferris was taken out of the truck, and pushed and prodded along. A rough voice had told him to sit as hands pushed him down. Then after a short while, he was moving again. The sound was different, more rhythmic than the truck had been, with a periodic thud. Train tracks, he guessed.

When they finally ripped the bag from his head, Ferris blinked in suddenly harsh light. He blinked away tears. Once his vision cleared, Ferris felt his stomach drop. He was confronted by a suspension bridge, littered with wrecked cars. At the other end, partially obscured by thick dark clouds, the broken towers of tall tower blocks loomed. And Ferris knew exactly where he was.

The Pitt.

He took a deep breath and coughed. The harsh, sulphurous air was thick with pollutants that left a hazy pall over everything.

"You alright, mate?" the man next to Ferris asked. "Not a good idea, taking a deep breath of this air, you know? Here, tie this over your mouth, it'll help a bit." He passed Ferris a dirty rag.

There were a few of them in their group, around twenty men and women, varied in clothes and age. Most had a bewildered expression on their face, not quite believing what was happening to them. A couple, when they sat the broken towers of the Pitt, let out a wail of despair.

Once the coughing fit subsided, Ferris tied the rag over his mouth. "Thanks."

"No problem. Name's Sid."

"Ferris."

"Nice t'meet ya, Ferris. Wish it was under better circumstances, but I guess life's just one big surprise." Sid shrugged.

"Pragmatic attitude."

Sid grinned at him, revealing surprisingly white teeth . 'Wastelander, mate. Live life as it comes, I say."

Ferris took a good look at his fellow slave. The man was dressed in jeans and a hooded top, much repaired with little patches. His sandy brown hair was raggedly cut, and he sported a goatee and moustache.

"Get moving, slaves!" A voice behind them cut in. Several of the slaves at the back cried out as they were suddenly prodded with gun barrels and sharp objects. They pushed into the slaves in front of them, and the group started walking down the bridge.

It was a slow process, wending their way through the wrecked cars and other artificial barricades. Several of the new slaves stumbled and fell as they trudged along the bridge, and had to be picked up by their fellows, or risk being beaten to death by the slavers.

They were like the walking dead, Ferris thought, dumbstruck and disbelieving. Most were probably captured in raids that had left their fellows slaughtered. Either they would adapt to their new life, or they would die.

Neither prospect was palatable, as far as Ferris was concerned. He still had a promise to keep back in DC, and he'd be damned if he'd be staying here long. First opportunity he got to escape, he'd take it.

There was a welcome party waiting for them on the other side of the bridge, standing before the main gates; six raiders, dressed in Pitt garb. Some were in full battle armour, metal plates bolted to a bodysuit and festooned with wicked metal spikes. Others were in more practical clothes of thick, padded material, replete with gas masks. In the centre stood their leader. He wore spiked armour like some of his men, but it was more ornate, the spikes painted red, with another stripe running diagonal across his chest. All of them were armed.

"Welcome to the Pitt." The leader boomed. His voice was harsh, and Ferris could just make out a jagged scar across his throat. "You'll be joining the workers here. Work hard, and you'll be privileged. You might even earn your freedom, and get to join us. Fail, and you'll die." The leader turned and strode away, his men forming a protective group around him.

"Well that was to the point." Sid muttered.

They were ushered through the gates, and then separated into smaller groups. There were cries of protest as friends were suddenly separated. They were quickly quashed with well placed blows, and the unconscious slaves dragged off.

Ferris found himself with Sid, the pair of them led away by a short, stocky female raider with a foot-high Mohawk. Both of them studied their surroundings with interest. The buildings around them were old, supported by a network of scaffolding, and above raiders patrolled the higher walkways. Rubble was strewn across what used to be streets, a thick layer of wreckage and effluence that had formed a solid layer of mud, hiding the original street level underneath. In places, slaves worked with tools to break down metal girders and structural beams that poked up here and there in the middle of the street. Whether it was a massive clean up operation, or the raiders were mining any and all available material, Ferris didn't know. Whatever they were doing here, it was big.

Eventually, they entered a domicile zone. The area had been blocked off, an enclosed section of the city with only a few access points. The ground was still thick and uneven with rubble here, but there were no steel girders sticking out. The mining had already moved on to another part of the city. The raider pointed at a door across the street, sheltered by a rusted sheet of iron. "Your new home. Report to the steelwork in two hours." She turned and left.

The door was rusted solid, and took a few shoves to open, groaning in protest. Ferris and Sid looked around their new home. It was a tiny room, with two mattresses in one corner, and a mouldy, rotting dresser against one wall. The remnants of wallpaper hung peeling from the walls. It stank of mould and damp.

"Huh," Sid said.

"You were expecting a palace? Hotel suite?" Ferris asked testily. He really didn't need this. The sooner he escaped, the better. He suppressed the urge to scream and vent, and destroy any object nearby, even his new room mate.

"Well, it would've been nice, wouldn't it? Still, I suppose this will do." He sat down on one of the mattresses, then promptly lay down and closed his eyes.

Ferris stared incredulously at Sid. His hands curled into fists. "Does nothing bother you? We're stuck in the Pitt. Likely to die here, if the Raiders have their way!"

Sid shifted about on his mattress and grimaced. He opened one eye and returned Ferris' stare with a smile. "What do you expect me to do? Rage at the injustice of it all? I got unlucky, and they caught me. You think I'm happy about it? Well I'm not. But I'm going to save my energy, and learn all I can about this place. Then I'm going to escape. I don't reckon the Raiders can cover every way out of this place. Not exactly the brightest lights in the sky, you know."

Ferris kept staring at Sid, but now he was studying him. He was average height, with a slender build. Thick dark hair had been tied back in a loose ponytail, and he had a thick, wiry beard. But the eyes were bright and sharp. He was somewhere in his early thirties, Ferris guessed.

"You don't have a plan though, do you." The question was rhetorical.

Sid's smile slipped a little. "No."

"I didn't think so."

Ferris sat down on the other bed, and leaned back against the wall. His head still hurt where he'd struck it, after Leroy's sucker punch.

Backstabbing bastard, he thought savagely. He'd make him pay for everything he'd done. Once I've rescued Sonora, after I've escaped from this place. Easy. The craziness of that thought got him chuckling. Soon he was laughing hard.

Sid sat up and looked at his room mat confused. Then after a moment, a grin split his face and he started laughing.

Eventually, the laughter died down, the two men left panting for breath. "You know, there's one flaw in your plan." Ferris said between breaths.

"Aside from not having one?"

He tugged at his slave collar. "You go too far, and boom, there goes your head. You're going to need to get rid of it before you can escape."

"Damn. Shame I'm no good at lockpicking."

"Then it's a good job I am. I'll need some tools, and a good look at these collars, but I might be able to get them off."

"Yeah? That's fantas-"

A sudden banging at the door cut them short. "Time for your shift, slaves."

"I wonder what they've got in store for us?" Sid said.

Outside, a burly Raider was waiting for them, a shotgun cradled in his arms.

* * *

The Mill was dirty, dark, hot, and loud. Massive machine works pumped away, moving and shaping the metal melted down in the furnaces. Slaves worked in the heat, sweat slicking their skin, working the machines, carrying the freshly made ingots and the metal ready to be melted down. Others kept the fires stoked, whilst a special few were tasked with maintaining the machines, carefully monitored by gun toting Raiders. It was, Ferris felt, ironic that the largely illiterate Raiders were forced to rely on their own slaves to make sure everything worked. If the slaves were ever to rebel, the Raiders would be well and truly fucked.

Right now, rebellion was the last thing on Ferris' mind.

As soon as he arrived in the Mill, Ferris was confronted by a cacophony of sight, sound and smells. He didn't quite know where to look; there was movement everywhere.

The Raider foreman, a fat, balding man called Paulo, shoved a pair of thick leather gloves at them and directed him and Sid to work with the other slaves carrying the broken up bits of metal for smelting. They joined a team of about a dozen others, all slaves who'd been in the Pitt for some time, their eyes dead, features set in a permanently mournful expression. Ferris felt a stab of pity for them. These slaves were stuck. Even if they were offered a chance at rescue, they wouldn't take it. Slavery was now all they knew, subsuming everything else.

Ferris promised himself that he wouldn't end up like this. He had too much to do.

It was hot and hard work, moving the metal to the massive smelters, the furnaces putting out an unbearable amount of heat. It wasn't long before Ferris was sweating madly. The gloves he'd been given were thick enough to protect his hands from the jagged metal, but they were old and much repaired; he'd jabbed himself a few times already.

With the heat and the exhaustive nature of the work, there was no talking, but plenty of time for thinking. Ferris took a few furtive looks around, watching the patrols and considering the rest of the workforce. The Raiders might not be all that intelligent as a group, but they more than made up for it with aggressiveness. Ferris had already seen several slaves on the receiving end of a beating for not working as hard as a Raider thought they could. And they kept to regular patrols. Whoever was in charge at least knew what he was doing.

A sudden scream echoed through the Mill. The slaves in Ferris' workgroup stopped what they were doing and looked up, frightened. The scream cut off sharply, with a gurgle. It was quickly followed by several more screams. Then slaves were running away from the direction the screams had come from, a massive stampede of them. Raiders pushed and shoved their way through the milieu, some trying to reach the front of the mass and get out, others heading to the source of the screams.

Ferris glanced questioningly at Sid, who shrugged in answer. Reaching into the crowd, he dragged out one of the slaves, a boy, no more than fifteen. He cried out as he felt Ferris' hand on his arm, and fought to get away. Ferris slammed him against a support pillar.

"What's going on?"

"T-troggs!" the boy answered.

Ferris let him go. "What's a trogg?"

"Not a clue," Sid replied. "You want to find out?"

Ferris thought about it for a moment. It had nothing to do with him. It was more important that he try and work out how to escape the Pitt. But natural curiosity won out. He picked up a wrench and hefted it; the head was thick iron, an effective enough weapon. Sid picked up a crowbar, and the pair of them worked their way around the crowd, deeper into the Mill.

Over the sound of the machinery, still going despite the sudden departure of the workforce, Ferris heard a wet _crack_. He glanced over at Sid, and hefted his wrench.

The creature, the trogg, appeared almost out of nowhere. It hurtled round the corner, grabbing for him with powerful hands. Ferris swung his wrench. It smashed into the trogg's head, and dashed it against a steel support beam. It collapsed into a heap on the floor. One side of it head was caved in. Ferris held his weapon ready, and examined the creature. It was humanoid, and completely hairless. Had its head not been smashed by Ferris' wrench, its feature would've been vaguely human, with enlarged eyes. The arms were elongated and sinewy; it would be able to exert a hell of a lot of strength, probably even be able to rip Ferris' head off, had he let it get its hands around his neck.

"Ugly looking bastard, isn't it?" Sid said.

Ferris nodded. There was a trail of blood leading from the trogg. He followed it, and suddenly he wished he hadn't. A few metres away, lay a slick pile of bloody flesh and bone. The bones had been cracked for the marrow. Sid uttered a curse and turned away in disgust.

Ferris tilted his head sharply. The machines had died down now, leaving silence in its place. He heard a scuttling sound. He tapped Sid on the shoulder, and pointed to his left. Sid raised his eyebrows in reply, and shrugged, hefting his crowbar.

Carefully, the two men approached the source of the noise, in one of the central control rooms. It was dark inside, the single light in the room broken, leaving only the ranks of display screens for illumination. There was a dark shape in one corner.

Ferris raised his wrench for an over-arm swing. The shape screamed and sidled along the wall into the light. It cowered in terror. Ferris halted the swing halfway, almost overbalancing himself. He held up a hand, suddenly glad he hadn't been gung-ho. The shape was a child.

"Wait here,' he put down the wrench, resting the head against the floor. "Hey, its okay. I'm not here to hurt you, you're safe now." He held out his arms.

The child moved slowly, tentatively at first, then ran straight into his arms and Ferris scooped her up. She was filthy, no more than six years old, her greasy blond hair hanging in strands. Probably born into slavery.

She let out a little whimper and wrapped her arms tight around Ferris' neck. "It's okay," he whispered.

"Bu- but my Da, the monster attacked him."

"Shh, it'll be okay. We'll find your Dad."

The sound of bare hands and feet scampering over bare metal and concrete echoed across the mill, accompanied by low, feral growls.

"Hey, Ferris. I don't think that trogg was the only one."

He set the girl down, prising her hands from around his neck. She cried out for a moment at the sudden loss of her perceived safety.

"What's your name?"

"Lanni," she replied.

"Okay, Lanni. I need you to go hide in that corner, and close your eyes. No matter what you see or here, don't open them till I tell you. Go on now."

Ferris watched the child run back into the corner, squeezing underneath one of the consoles, then he picked up his wrench and went to stand at the door, next to Sid.

"You know," Sid whispered. "I'm really starting to dislike this unexpected detour."

The troggs came at them in a rush, panting and snarling in their hurry to reach fresh meat. The doorway constrained them. Only one or two could get through at the same time, only to meet Ferris' wrench, or Sid's crowbar.

Ferris swung his wrench hard. He crushed the skull of one trogg, then reversed the swing to club another climbing over the body of its fellow. Sid jabbed the crowbar into a trogg's face, receiving a howl of pain.

In moments, the doorway was blocked by the dead creatures, giving the two men a momentary reprieve.

Ferris panted, bent over resting his hands on his knees. His wrench momentarily forgotten. He'd been working in the Mill for several hours. He was fit, to be sure, but most of his life had been spent surviving in the wastelands, not hard graft. His shoulders burned, and he was wobbly on his feet. Next to him, Sid sat on the floor, leaning back against the wall. Lanni had climbed up to sit on his lap.

"You reckon we beat them?" Ferris asked.

"Oh, absolutely. I'm sure the little buggers realise what tough blokes we are, and have decided we're too much trouble." Several low growls drifted through the blocked doorway. The pile of troggs shifted as others pulled and worried at the barricade. "Or not."

The top body shifted, then tumbled down into the room.

"Get ready." Ferris reached for his wrench. He could barely lift the thing, let alone swing it. But there was no way he was going to die without a fight.

"We've got survivors!"

The voice was not one Ferris was expecting, and for a moment, he wondered why a trogg would say that. Then the pile of bodies was pulled out on the way, and Raiders in spiked armour entered, carrying combat shotguns. He sighed in relief, dropping the wrench, and sat down on the floor, all of his strength gone.

One of the two Raiders glanced down at the dead troggs. It was the leader from the bridge, Ferris realised, dimly recognising him.

"That's a lot of troggs you two killed. Think you're wasted down here working the mill. Reckon you can handle yourselves in combat."

"One does try." Sid replied flippantly.

The leader grunted. "I'm taking you out of the works. Report to Larkin in the morning. Tomorrow, you two get to fight for glory and wealth, as Pit fighters."

"Don't go doing me any favours," Ferris croaked to his back as the Raider leader walked away.

"You know, I think I've had enough of this place. Too much like hard, dangerous work. How do you feel about escaping?" Sid asked.

"Fantastic."

"Great. Me too. Me too."

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	10. Pitt Fight

**Pitt Fight**

"Be careful, will you?"

"I am. This isn't easy. Now hold still."

"Easy for you to say. I mean, I know I said life's an adventure, but getting your head blown off is one adventure too far, mate."

Ferris ignored Sid's comment, and concentrated on the lock of the slave collar. The collar was a band of metal hinged on one side, and locked in place around the neck with a mechanical lock. What made the collar really dangerous though, and the source of Sid's worry, was the small package of explosives built into the collar, set to go off if it was tampered with, or if the slave tried to escape.

Gently, he eased the bobby pin around the lock, feeling for the tumblers that would release it. It was tricky work, made all the more difficult by Sid's constant twitching.

Ferris tapped him on the shoulder. "You keep moving like that, and you will loose your head. Do you want to escape or not?"

"Sorry mate," Sid replied, glancing at him sheepishly. "It's just the thought of all that explosive strapped around my neck. Makes me nervous."

"It's not all that much, really. The metal collar focuses the blast so it just blows your head off."

Sid rolled his eyes. "Yeah, thanks. Really comforting."

There was a bang at the door. Both men froze, and Ferris removed his bobby pin from the collar's lock. He slipped it into a hiding place inside his boot. It had taken the better part of a week to find a pin that would work. Losing it was not something he really wanted to chance.

"It's time." A female voice called. Her job done, she walked away, her footsteps receding into silence.

"Oh joy," Sid said. 'You hear that? It's time."

"The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can try to escape."

They left their tiny shared accommodation, shutting the door behind them. Not that it would make much of a difference here – neither of them had anything worth stealing.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Oh, speaking of, I overheard that the old steelyard is riddled with tunnels. Might even be one that leads out of here, or at least back to the train line."

"Where'd you hear that?" Ferris asked as they walked through the warren of buildings.

"One of the girls down in the mill. The Raiders like to send slaves out there to fetch any abandoned steel ingots. Place is infested with troggs, which is why they don't go looking themselves."

Ferris glanced over at his companion. "A girl down in the mill?"

"Yep. Very helpful, she was." Sid replied with a devilish grin.

Ferris rolled his eyes. After sharing a room with him for the past two weeks, he'd gotten used to Sid's idiosyncrasies. Somehow, despite his status as a slave, Sid had made quite a number of acquaintances, even with some of the Raiders.

"You reckon you can get us on the work detail?"

Sid shrugged. "Shouldn't be a problem. I think Pippa's running the scavenger teams. She'll get us on."

"Pippa? No, wait, I don't want to know."

Ferris had no idea how he'd managed it, but Sid was proving to be a resourceful companion. He'd certainly made the past two weeks in the Pitt tolerable, but with the passing of each day, Ferris could feel himself getting more and more agitated. He had to escape, and soon.

They walked deeper into the Pitt, heading down into the lower levels. They left behind the open, hazy orange sky behind, moving along cold, dank corridors. The walls were slick with mildew and lichen. Lights had been strung across the ceiling, providing little pools of dim light, whilst the light bulbs themselves hung just at head height from power cables, bright little hazards for them to dodge around. As with the rest of the Pitt, centuries of detritus had gathered into the corners, adding an unnatural curve to the base of the walls.

Few people came down this way, only those selected by the Raiders, sometimes fellow Raiders, oftentimes slaves given a chance to win their freedom. If they were lucky to survive.

Ferris and Sid emerged into a small chamber, lined with lockers. There was a door on the opposite side, a thick slab of metal with a wheel lock in the centre. More lights were fixed to the walls, some flickering, producing a decent enough illumination to light the chamber.

Sid nodded to the Raider leaning against the wall beside the metal door. "Alright, Larkin?"

The Raider nodded back and pushed himself away from the wall. "Not bad. Piles givin' me bother though."

"Oh? Y'know, I think I might know someone back topside who might have something for that. I'll see what I can do."

Larkin brightened, his mouth splitting into a wide grin, revealing several lost teeth. "Much appreciated, friend. You sure you don't want to tell me who now? You know, in case you don't come back out?"

Sid chuckled. "What and give away my source? You kidding me?"

"Worth a try though." Larkin said, shrugging.

"You should have more faith in me. Besides, I got my best mate here," he slapped Ferris on the back to an accompanying grimace. "Best shot in the wastelands."

Larking gave Ferris an appraising look. "What's your weapon?"

"Assault rifle. Also pretty good with a pistol."

"That so, huh." Larkin turned to one of the lockers. The door creaked as he opened it and peered inside. "Well, afraid you're all outta luck, pal. This is all we got left." He threw a pistol at Ferris.

He caught it deftly. It was a revolver, and for a second he hoped he'd gotten lucky, and been given a .44 magnum. No such luck. A .32 calibre, break action. "Yeah, great."

Larkin turned to Sid. "Got the gun you were after."

"Fantastic," Sid replied, taking the weapon, a combat shotgun. He ejected the drum magazine, checking the mechanism before slotting it back in place with a click, before slinging it over his shoulder.

A light came on over the metal door.

"Looks like they're ready for you." Larkin spun the door release, and with a grunt, heaved the door open. Beyond was a short corridor, formed from the interior of a massive concrete pipe. A gate blocked the other end.

"What?" Sid asked, at a look from Ferris. Behind them, the metal door shut with a low rumble.

Ferris shook his head. "I don't know how you do it. You have these people, both slaves and Raiders, eating out of your hands. By rights, Larkin should've given you whatever piece of shit weapon he had. But you managed to get him to give you exactly what you wanted instead."

"It's a gift," Sid shrugged.

"Too fucking right it is. Give you enough time, and you'd probably be running this place."

"But who'd want that? Too much stress, mate. I like visiting places. Got no ties to one place."

Ferris turned his gaze to the area beyond the gate. It was a large room, carved out of the bedrock foundations of the Pitt, and easily thirty metres across, set up almost like an obstacle course, Chunks of concrete and broken sections of iron pipes littered the arena. One corner had been given over to a bubbling, muddy, radioactive pool, barrels of waste half buried in the quagmire. An easy enough hazard to avoid, but it cut down the size of the arena, and not a place you'd want to have your back to. On the other side, he could see a pipe similar to the one he and Sid were standing in, its broken end sticking out of the arena wall. Across parts of the rough floor, he spotted a number of nozzles poking up. He frowned, trying to work out what they were for, then dismissed them.

His eyes shifted upwards. There was no ceiling, the top of the chamber capped with a chain-linked fence, and held in place by a web work of metal support struts. People were standing on it, waiting. The familiar sound of machinery drifted down into the chamber. Then it twigged. They were beneath the mill.

Once, the arena had probably been some sort of pumping chamber for the city's waste disposal system. But that had been centuries and another civilisation ago. The raiders had discovered it when the roof collapsed, leaving a thirty metre wide hole in their mill. At first, the fence had been put up to prevent any workers from accidently falling down the hole. They had since found an altogether different purpose for it.

The gate clicked and drew back out of site.

"Time for action, I guess." Sid muttered. He clicked off the safety on his shotgun. Ferris followed suit, cocking his revolver's hammer.

They entered the arena proper, back to back. Weapons held ready. Above them, the spectators erupted in cheer.

The pitt fight had begun.

On the other side of the chamber, the gate blocking the other pipe slid upwards. Ferris dived behind a broken pillar of concrete half again his size. He aimed his pistol at the dark mouth of the pipe. Opposite, Sid did the same, aiming his shotgun.

For several seconds, nothing happened. Ferris was beginning to think that it was some Raider joke.

The inside of the pipe lit up with a muzzle flash. He yelped in surprise, bullets whizzing past his head. Several ricocheted off his cover, blasting off sharp slivers of concrete.

Three men came striding out of the pipe, and Ferris found himself cursing Larkin. All three wore heavy armour, metal plates riveted to a black body suit, and reinforced biker helmets. Blades had been welded onto the plates at the knuckles and on the vambraces. They would make wicked close quarters weapons. Two carried assault rifles, whilst the third sported a double barrel shotgun.

And all Ferris had was a revolver, and five shots. He looked over at Sid. His companion grinned.

The man must be insane, Ferris thought. They were about to fight for their lives, against superior opponents, and the lunatic was _happy_! He let out a calming breath. You survived going toe-to-toe with a deathclaw someone you thought was a friend set on you. If you can survive that, you can survive this.

Ferris gestured at Sid, silently passing on instructions. He nodded in agreement. Sid slipped round the side of his cover.

He counted to two. Ferris surged up. The three Raiders had kept pretty much together as they entered the arena, figuring that they could beat the two slaves by force rather than tactics. They were three metres away. Ferris took aim at the far right hand Raider, carrying the shotgun. The pistol jerked in his hand as he fired two shots. The first hit the Raider in his shoulder pad. He staggered under the impact. The second was a lucky shot. It hit the Raider in his lower right leg, just below the armour. It blew through his knee. The Raider collapsed to the ground, the leg no longer able to support him. He fell onto one of the nozzles.

The body jerked. The abdomen began to swell. A jet of fire burst through the Raider's stomach, blasting high into the air. The two others dived out of the way.

The jet cut off. Seeing his chance, Ferris dived for the shotgun. His hands closed on the worn, wooden stock. He rolled and came up on one knee, bringing the shotgun in line. He fired both barrels. The closest Raider, picking himself up, took the blast in the chest. His body flew backwards and slumped against a mound of rubble.

Ferris swung the shotgun to the other Raider. Belatedly, he realised he'd already fired both barrels. The Raider stared at Ferris, still uselessly pointing the shotgun. He brought up his rifle.

Ferris squeezed both eyes shut, waiting for the killing shot.

There was a terrible boom.

He was still alive. Ferris opened his eyes. The Raider was lying on his front, dead, a smoking hole in his back, the armour around the edge of the hole ragged.

Sid stood over him, cradling his shotgun. He was grinning down at Ferris.

"Forget about me?" He offered a hand.

Ferris took the hand, and pulled himself to his feet. He picked up one of the assault rifles. It was in pretty good condition, and certainly better than his old rifle. Chinese, he reckoned. Shame he wouldn't be able to keep it. Overhead, the small crowd of spectators were cheering and stamping their feet.

"Maybe."

Sid chuckled. "You're one crazy hard bastard, you know? The way you took out that Raider then shot the other. I mean, fuck! I blinked and nearly missed it!"

"Thanks," he said, shifting uncomfortably. "Come on, let's get out of here."

They returned to the entrance room, and a grinning Larkin.

"That was some fightin' boys. Never seen anything like it. Can see why the bossman wanted you two in the arena."

Ferris made to hand the rifle back to Larkin, only for the Raider to shake his head.

"Nah, you keep it. Spoils of victory. Keep this up, and you'll win your freedom in no time."

Ferris thanked the man. He and Sid made their way back to their quarters in Downtown, nodding to a few other slaves, hard at work chopping up metal girders. Even the slave master waved in greeting at them.

"If that's what we have to do to win our freedom, count me out," Ferris said, once they were back in their room. He flopped down on his mattress.

"You want me to get us into the steelyard detail then?"

Ferris nodded. "We've got guns now."

"Still got these collars though. Not gonna do us much good if we still have these on."

"I need somewhere quiet to work to get them off, somewhere no Raiders are going to disturb us."

"I think I know just the place."

"Yeah?"

"Yup," Sid said, putting his hands behind his head. "The steelyard."

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	11. Tunnel Route

**Tunnel Route**

Ferris gripped his recently acquired assault rifle loosely, and waited. He took several deep breaths to calm his nerves. It wasn't like he was scared, or terrified, more anxious. Anxious that this whole scheme that he and Sid had been working on since almost after they arrived wasn't going to come crashing down on them.

They were waiting in a room at one end of the mill, that led to the steelyard outside. The room was small and cluttered, a desk in one corner with steel shelves and cabinets behind it. A couple of old, pre war lamps provided the only illumination, castings a soft glow. The walls were bare brick, with only a few posters here and there.

Six other slaves were waiting with them, most carrying some sort of weapon, from pistols right up to the cutting tools the slaves used. All of them looked nervous, but then they knew what waited for them on the other side of the door to the steelyard. Ferris had an inkling of what to expect; he'd already met several troggs before, and he knew how vicious and dangerous the beasts were. He wasn't particularly interested in meeting any more of them, but Sid had said there was a tunnel network that led out of the city in there.

He glanced over at Sid, his companion leaning against the wall, eyes closed and arms crossed. His shotgun was propped up next to him, barrel resting against the floor. The picture of a man completely at home and relaxed. Then he saw the small smile that curled Sid's lips.

"Not gone to sleep yet, then?"

Sid opened one eye. "Not bloody likely. Not with that bloody lot shuffling and moaning. You'd think they'd been given a death sentence or something."

Ferris shrugged. "Haven't they?"

"Near as, I guess." Sid dropped his voice to a whisper. "You know, we could offer to help these sorry sods. Would make things more interesting."

"I thought you didn't like having dependents?"

"True. Okay, forget I said that. Besides, look at them. Never met a sorrier bunch. Be kinder just to shoot them now."

"Maybe it would, but then we'd be no better than the Raiders, would we."

"Hey I was only saying. It's not like I'm actually going to do it. I guess I kinda wish I could do something to help them."

"One day, someone's going to come here and change everything."

Sid chuckled. "Did you just turn into a fortune teller while I wasn't looking? I could've sworn that almost sounded like a prophecy."

"No. Just inevitability. The Raiders use slave labour. One day, someone's going to rebel against that."

"And probably get a lot of people slaughtered too. Still, those would be interesting times to live in, don't you think?"

Before Ferris could answer, several Raiders entered the room. The line of slaves stood up straighter as the Raiders, two women with Mohawks, and a man bedecked in rings, studied them.

"I ain't seen a sorrier bunch of slaves in all my life." One of the women said. Her voice was guttural and coarse. If it wasn't for the skimpy costume she'd chosen to wear, Ferris would've doubted it actually was a woman.

The man moved to stand in front of the line of slaves. For a moment, his eyes rested on Sid and Ferris, standing at one end, then they were travelling down the line. "You slaves have been picked to recover something for us. It's dirty job. And dangerous." He pointed at the door to the yard. "Out there are steel ingots from back when the steelyard was in full production, before the war. You're going to go out there and recover them. For every ingot you bring back, that'll be one less beating. The team who brings back the most, will get something nice from me. Understood?"

The slaves nodded.

"Good. Ladies, give 'em the bags."

The two women took satchels from the cabinet behind the desk, and handed them out to the slaves. There were enough for one between two. Ferris took theirs, slinging it over his shoulder.

The man sat behind the desk and crossed his arms. "Well? Get going."

Almost in a rush, the slaves piled out of the door, running out into the steelyard. When Sid reached the door, the second woman whispered something in his ear, and pressed something into his hand. He smiled at her in thanks, and went through. Ferris followed.

They came out at the bottom of an old train yard. A watchtower built from scaffold poles stood over the entrance, ready to protect it from encroaching troggs. Not that it had been all that effective. It had been here that the beasts had made their way into the mill a few weeks ago, slaughtering the guard on watch before forcing their way through the door.

Further up, lines of train carriages sat on rails, their metals wheels having long rusted to the tracks; it would take a monumental amount of power to get them moving again. Of their nuclear powered engines, there was no sign. It was likely that they would be stored in another location.

"What was that about?" Ferris asked.

"Huh? Oh, that. That was Paula. Wanted to give me something for luck." Sid held out his hand, showing the object Paula had given him. A stimpack. "Here. May as well make that bag useful, seeing as we aren't actually collecting any ingots."

Ferris slipped the stimpack into the bag. "Okay, we need to find somewhere quiet to hole up whilst I unlock these collars."

"Yeah, preferably somewhere you're not gonna be distracted."

"That building looks promising," Ferris said, pointing.

Above the trainyard, there were several old warehouses, their corrugated metal walls and roofs pitted with rust. At some point, the arm of a crane had collapsed onto the buildings, creating a bridge across them. And beyond, half hidden in the ever pervasive haze that covered the Pitt, sat the cooling tower of the old power plant, long dead. The building Ferris pointed at was on the level above the trainyard.

A scream echoed across the steelyard, and cut off abruptly.

Sid hefted his shotgun and smiled uneasily. "I guess someone met a trogg. Okay, let's go look."

They made their way through across the trainyard, weapons at the ready. Halfway way, they came across the first body. It was lying slumped half on the platform between the lines of carriages, legs over the edge. The slave's chest had been torn open, his sack ripped apart by his side. The trogg had torn it open, searching for something. His weapon was still gripped in his hand, unused. He'd been surprised by the trogg, probably pounced on him from behind.

The building was more of a shack, an outbuilding attached to one of the warehouses. It lay on the other side of a chain-link fence. Ferris and Sid had to climb through a gap where part of the fence had collapsed to reach it. There was no door to the shack, having fallen off at some point, and the windows were now just blank holes. Several metal shelving units had been bolted to the walls. Apart from the shelves, there was no furniture inside the shack. It had been used more for storage than anything, to keep odds and ends that the old steelyard might need for repair and maintenance.

"This'll do," Ferris said. He moved to the back of the shack, and motioned for Sid to sit down next to him.

Reluctantly, the wastelander did as he was asked. He faced the door to the shack, and set his shotgun down in his lap. Nervously, he checked to make sure the safety was off.

"Whenever you're ready. Let's get this over and done with, yeah?"

Ferris nodded, and drew his bobby pin. He inserted it into the lock. "Just keep still. Remember, the slightest bit off, and I blow your head off."

"Yeah yeah, don't remind me."

He shifted the pin around in the lock. Feeling for the catches. It was slow and careful work, feeling round with the pin to get a feel for the interior of the lock. He already had a good idea of the lock from before, but this was different. This time, he was going to do it, instead of just testing the water.

Sweat began to prick his forehead. He stuck his tongue out, concentrating, and tasted salt.

There was a shuffling noise outside.

"Hurry up," Sid whispered.

"I know."

"I mean it."

"I know."

Ferris shifted the bobby pin. He felt resistance, and pulled back. Tried again. There was a soft, but audible _click_. The lock disengaged. The collar parted, and Sid pulled it off. He breathed a sigh of relief, and rubbed his neck. It felt good to feel cool air on his neck again.

"Cheers, mate."

Ferris nodded. "Now for me. Keep me covered."

Now that he had the feel for the lock, it didn't take as long to remove his own. It was trickier, not being able to see the lock, but Ferris closed his eyes and concentrated on the movement of his hand, shifting the pin this way and that.

"It's getting closer. You'd better hurry up with that collar." Sid said.

Ferris ignored him. He felt the sweet spot, and pushed. The collar disengaged. Ferris opened his eyes and began to sigh with relief. He saw the trogg, and froze. Sid held his breath.

The beast hadn't seen them yet. It was too interesting in following whatever trace it had picked up on the ground. The head swung one way, away from the shack. Then it swung back. It hooted, spotting the two men inside.

With all his might, Ferris ripped the collar from his neck, and threw it. The collar struck the trogg dead centre of its head, knocking it back. It let out a howl of pain. Then Sid fired. The shotgun blast was deafening inside the shack. The trogg was hurled against the fence in a spray of blood. It dropped to the ground, dead.

Ferris picked up his assault rifle. In the distance, they heard a howl, quickly picked up by others. They were coming from all over the steelyard.

"How far to the tunnels?" Ferris asked.

"Not far. There's a man hole down by the carriages."

"I think now's a good time to start running."

Sid nodded in agreement. They ran from the shack, back down to the parked carriages. Ferris spared a glance back, and suddenly wished he hadn't. Behind them a hoard of troggs scampered down after them. They moved on all fours, in an odd hopping motion.

He followed Sid between the rows of carriages. It was too narrow to move in anything but single file.

"Keep going. Get the man hole open. I'll hold them back." Ferris brought up his rifle.

The first trogg made it to the gap between the carriages. He centred it in his sights. The rifle burst caught it square in the chest. It juddered under the bullet impacts, and dropped, dead. Another climbed over the corpse of its fellow. That one fell to a shot to the head.

"Ferris!"

He fired another burst, then turned and ran to Sid's aid. Ferris burst out of the gap between the carriages. He took in the scene immediately. Sid had been prising the man hole cover off when the trogg had pounced, taking its moment when he'd been completely distracted. The trogg had landed on Sid's back, wrapping its powerful arms around his neck in an attempt to strangle him. Then Sid had fallen backwards, landing on top of the trogg, preventing it from biting him. They rolled, and suddenly the trogg was on top, arms reaching down to rip Sid's throat out. He was fighting a battle he was going to lose.

Ferris pulled the trigger. The rifle bullet blew through its brains, exploding out the other side in a spray of bone fragments and gore. The trogg collapsed on Sid. He reached down and grabbed a handful of flesh and heaved the corpse off of his companion. Letting go, Ferris brought up his rifle again, and fired a burst at the gap between the carriages. A trogg dropped, dead.

"You okay?"

Sid coughed. "Yeah. Can we go now?"

More troggs poured out of the gap. Ferris fired several more bursts, cutting them down. His rifle clicked. The magazine was empty. He ejected it, and slammed home a fresh one.

"Now is a good time."

The two men jumped down the manhole, and pulled the heavy cover back in place. It dropped shut with a _clang_.

Ferris climbed the rest of the way down the ladder. He pulled out a torch and switched it on.

Filthy water sloshed around their boots. The walls were slick with slime and moisture, gleaming in the torch's beam. The tunnel was three metres wide, and after five metres sloped down, the rest hidden in darkness.

"Oh joy, another sewer. There'd better not be any deathclaws at the end of this one." Ferris said.

"Huh?"

"Never mind, long story."

Ferris started walking, leading the way with his torch. Above, the troggs howled and screamed, scrabbling at the manhole.

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	12. Rescue

**Rescue**

They left the sound of the troggs, scrabbling to get into the tunnels behind them, slowly making their way with only the light from Ferris' torch to guide them.

The tunnels were part of an old sewer system that ran under the majority of the Pitt. Most of it had been blocked off over the years, as parts collapsed, the supports failing to allow tons of concrete and steel and brick to crash down into the tunnels. Despite their lack of use, there was still a fair volume of stagnant water gathering in the darkness, collecting in pools, and shallow streams. It was too hazardous to drink; like almost all water sources that survived post war, they were mildly radioactive.

Ferris and Sid avoided the water as they crept through the darkness. Neither spoke. Sound echoed through the tunnels, coming back to them oddly distorted. Several times they thought they heard the sound of something with them, stalking them in the darkness. But nothing came at them. Chances were, whatever it was, shied from the beam of light.

'"Maybe it's an alligator," Sid murmured.

"What?"

"You know, back in the day, there was always talk about alligators in the sewers, eating maintenance folk. Apparently, people used to flush them down the toilet when they got too big to handle, and they ended up down here, growing and feeding off rats."

Ferris grunted. "That's great, Sid. Think up another adventure for you to have. Preferably not when I'm involved."

"I'm just saying. Could be an alligator."

"But it's not."

I hope, Ferris thought.

The sewer tunnel sloped downwards, steeply, forcing them to move to the sides to make their way down the slithery surface. Encrusted slime slicked their backs as they pressed against the wall. The smell, of rotting meat and fungal growths, was disgusting.

Eventually, the tunnel levelled out again. Ten metres ahead, they came to a door, recessed into the side of the tunnel. It was a heavy metal hatch, the metal pitted with rust and mold.

"Is this the way?" Ferris asked, turning to look at Sid.

There was a pensive expression on Sid's face. He shrugged. "I don't know."

"What do you mean, I don't know? It was your idea to come down here in the first place. There's a way out down here, you said. I though that meant you knew the way!"

"Well, it's not like I've been down here before. And I said there might be a way out down here, thank you very much."

"Fantastic. Alright, let's try it. Can't be any worse than the steel yard, can it?"

Sid grinned. "Famous last words."

"Just shut up."

The grin widened, and he swore he heard a low chuckle.

Ferris gripped the door lock, and twisted. It resisted at first; the lock hadn't been in use for a long time, and had rusted almost solid. He heaved hard. The lever shifted suddenly, and the door swung open. There was a maintenance corridor on the other side. Pipes lined the walls and ceiling, conduits that contained power cables and gas and water supplies once, in the past.

The corridor connected two separate sewer lines, leading them down another level before terminating in another door. This one however was wide open, the door lying twisted and broken on the floor on the other side of the sewer tunnel. The inside of the corridor was blackened and scorched, the door having been blown off.

"Gas explosion?" Sid asked.

Ferris crouched down, examining the door. "Maybe. There's no sign of any explosive used on it. My guess, the gas line leaked, and ignited. The overpressure blew the door off."

"Nothing to do with us, though, right?"

"No. Explosion like this, you'd probably feel it up on the surface."

"That's a relief. Hey, at least it's not the work of some sewer alligator, eh?"

Ferris held up his hand. He pointed his torch down one end of the tunnel. "Wait. You hear that?"

Sid glanced around nervously. He brought his shotgun up. "Come on, mate. I was only kidding about the alligator. It's not real, just a my-"

"Will you shut up about the damn alligator." Ferris said, cutting across him. "It's not that. Sounds like, _wind_."

They glanced at each, and started walking, following the direction of the noise. A few times they were forced to backtrack after taking the wrong route at a junction, ending up at a blocked tunnel, or a dead end. The sound was difficult to trace, the tunnels bouncing it around too much to easily pin point.

Eventually though, it started to get louder. There was more light in the tunnels now, so much so that Ferris turned his torch off, the light making it an unnecessary aid. The light was natural daylight too, not artificial.

The noise became a discernible whistling sound, wind blowing across the open mouth of a pipe. The tunnel took them up another slope, before finally levelling out and turning at a junction. It terminated suddenly at an opening into clear air.

"Well, that wasn't expected," Sid said, shuffling to the edge and looking down. He moved back quickly, a queasy look on his face. "Still, got us to where we wanted to go though, eh?"

"Oh absolutely. Problem is, how're we supposed to get up to it?"

"We'll find a way. There's got to be some way of getting up to there."

"Not by swimming, that's for sure."

The sewer tunnel had brought them out from underneath the Pitt, right to the bridge across the river that they'd crossed when they'd first arrived. Once, the outlet had been almost level with the river, chugging out an almost constant stream of sewage. But that had been centuries ago. When the city was still a busy population centre. When the river wasn't radioactive. When the river was a few metres below the outlet, instead of over forty metres.

The bridge was ten metres above them, to the left of the pipe. Support girders angled down from the span, plunging into the concrete sides. Ferris glanced along towards the bridge. There was a ledge below the mouth of the outlet, leading right across to one of the girders. His eyes followed the girder, right up to the bridge, where there was a walkway underneath, and stairs that led up to the topside.

"I think I can see a way up."

Sid rejoined him. "You must be joking."

"You want to go back to the Pitt, maybe explain how we got out collars off without blowing our heads off? I thought you wanted to escape? Still got a lot of the world to see."

"Shut up," Sid growled. He grimaced and stepped back, then let out a long sigh. A sudden grin split his mouth. "This is mad, you know? But, it's another adventure."

"Thought you might see it that way."

Ferris slung his rifle over his shoulder out of the way. Carefully, he made his way out onto the ledge. A sudden gust of wind tugged at him. He gripped the side of the outlet hard, holding on for dear life until the wind dropped again. Slowly, he started to inch across to the girder.

Behind him, Sid swung out onto the ledge. He was confident at first, sidling along the ledge with far more ease than Ferris had. The wind picked up again. Sid yelped as he felt it pull at him, attempting to whisk him off the ledge to a deep plunge into muddy waters. He flattened against the wall.

"Okay, I take it back. Can we go ask the Raiders to pretty please let us go?"

"Keep going."

"You've no heart," Sid grumbled.

It was hard keeping the fear from his voice, but Ferris felt it. Any moment, he expected his feet to lose their footing. Then that would be it. Sonora would be lost to a short life of slavery.

Don't be stupid, he told himself. The others have probably rescued her by now. They don't need him to do it. They were probably out looking for him now, trying to work out where he'd gone. Lucas had known he was going to Paradise Falls. But after that, his trail would probably have gone cold. Only Leroy had know where he was sending Ferris, and it was doubtful he'd stayed in Paradise Falls.

Besides, even if they did try to come get him, it'd take an army to assault this place.

Suddenly his groping hand slapped down on rough metal. The girder, he'd reached it. He let out a sigh of relief, and hauled himself up. He waited for Sid to catch him up, then held out a hand to haul him up. He companion took the hand gratefully.

They started climbing.

The girder was brown with rust, the protective coating of red paint that had covered the metal had peeled back and flaked off in massive patches, leaving the iron with no protection from the elements. The surface felt rough under their hands, but at least it gave them a good grip.

One day, the bridge supports would all rust through, and, unable to take the weight of the bridge, it would collapse, tumbling into the now-thin sliver of water below. It was unlikely that the Raiders would ever make use of any preventative methods to stop that eventuality. They were too set on making use of whatever scrap metal lay in the city. For what purpose, Ferris had no idea, despite two weeks of hard graft down in the mill. It was worrying enough that Raiders could organise themselves, let alone to what end. For a horrible moment, he had the terrifying thought of an army of well-armed and armoured Raiders invading the Wastelands, swooping down like swarm of locusts to rape and pillage the few towns and homesteads there were. Bastions like Rivet City and Tenpenny tower would be the only few to hold off against a storm like that; they were heavily defended. But even they would fall to an army, their supply routes cut off until their defenders collapsed from hunger. It was not a pleasant thought.

His foot slipped.

All thought of what the Raiders were up to left him. He scrambled for a good grip on the girder. With slow inevitability, he felt himself falling as the weight of his body, now unbalanced, followed his foot. Suddenly he was dangling out in mid-air. There were no handholds to clutch at. The pitted, rusted surface of the girder tore his hands as he tried to find something to arrest his fall.

A hand clamped around his wrist. "Gotcha, mate."

Sid pulled him up halfway. He swung his legs back onto the girder, and lay there panting in relief.

"Still think this was a good idea?" Sid asked. He was lying further up on the girder. "Thought you were a gonner for a second."

"Me too. And no, I don't. But I don't really want to try going back down."

"True."

Ferris opened his eyes. They were two thirds of the way up to the bridge now. A little bit more, and they'd be at the walkway, then safely on the bridge proper. He refrained from looking down, having gained a new and very sudden appreciation for height.

"Come on, not far now." Sid panted. He started crawling again.

Reluctantly, Ferris followed. He focused his eyes on the surface of the girder, and refused to take any notice of the ridiculously long drop on either side. It was more interesting to study the rust and the flecks of paint that still remained, treating each one as a work of art to be savoured.

Finally, they reached the walkway. Both companions sat down on the mesh walkway, leaning against the railings. Ferris had the shakes, his limbs trembling as the excess adrenaline faded from his system.

"I, am never, doing that, again. Ever," he said.

Sid raised one arm, and let it flop back to his lap. "I second that. Fight against unassailable odds? No problem. Journey across DC, exploring unstable ruins and running from super mutants? Sure. But climb across a narrow beam, high above a radioactive torrent? Piss off am I ever doing that again."

"Avoid bridges in the future?"

"Damn right."

"Sid, thanks for saving me."

"No problem, mate. Least I could do. Doubt I'd have gotten out of this place without your help."

Ferris snorted. "Maybe. Except you'd probably be in charge of the place by the end of the month, the way you had the Raiders damn near eating out of your hands."

"You mean I've gone to the trouble of escaping when I could've been in charge?" He slapped his face. "Oh, the shame! Power, wealth and ties to someplace, and I leave all that behind. Bugger. Shall we get to the train tunnels? I've got a powerful urge to go to Megaton to drown my nonexistent sorrows in lots of alcohol."

Ferris chuckled. "Let's go then."

They took the stairs up to the surface of the bridge. They emerged a quarter of the way along, near the base of one of the several guard posts along the span, fixed high up on the support towers. The bridge looked no different to when they'd passed across it, still strewn with the wrecks of ancient cars and trucks. Still quiet except for the low whistle of wind through the steel cables, and the distant sound of the mill, in full production. If the Raiders had noticed their escape, there was no sign of it yet.

For a moment, he thought he heard the sudden burst of gunfire. Ferris listened hard, but couldn't hear anything, and dismissed it.

He looked up at the guard post, and cursed. There was the barrel of a sniper rifle poking out over the edge of the platform. The Raiders still had a lookout posted. If they started making their way across the bridge now, the lookout would see them, and they'd be an easy target for a sniper's bullet.

Sid looked at him questioningly.

"Lookout."

"Bugger. How're we going to get past him?"

"We're not. Wait here."

There were ladder rungs bolted to the side of the tower, leading up to the guard post. Ferris started climbing, pulling himself up silently. The post was thirty metres up. Halfway, he made the mistake of looking down. His hands clamped around the rungs as a sudden wave of dizziness hit him. The surface of the bridge looked so far away. He could see Sid's upturned face looking up at him. He looked tiny.

"Get a grip of yourself, Ferris, for fuck's sake." He growled.

He took a deep breath, and continued climbing.

The platform was constructed from scaffolding and metal sheets, and had been bolted to the support tower. It looked and felt flimsy. The Raider was sitting on a chair at the edge of the platform, the sniper rifle on his lap, the barrel resting on the railing around the platform. He was sleeping.

Ferris' knife slid cleanly into his throat. The Raider let out a gurgle, and died, limbs twitching. The sniper rifle slipped off his lap and clattered to the sheet floor.

Leaving the body of the Raider, Ferris picked up the rifle, and brought the scope to his eye. There were two other lookout posts on the bridge.

He pulled the trigger. The rifle boomed. One hundred metres away, the Raider on the next post spasmed as the bullet tore through him. His body tumbled over the railing of his post and fell to the bridge surface, landing on top of a wrecked car.

Ferris shifted his aim. He watched the Raider look around, trying to find the source of the first shot. He clutched his gun nervously. The rifle boomed again. Another corpse tumbled off the platform.

Ferris surveyed the bridge for a few more minutes, looking for signs of other posts. Satisfied, he dropped the rifle, and climbed back down the side of the tower. This time, he kept his gaze firmly fixed on the rungs, and didn't look down until his left foot touched the surface of the bridge.

"Done?" Sid asked.

Ferris nodded. "Should be clear now."

"Oh, good. I get a bullet in the back though, and I'm suing."

The two companions carried on. They carried their weapons at the ready. The guard posts might be clear, but there was no telling if there were other patrols, or more Raiders returning with slaves. It was slow going across the bridge; a few times they had to climb over car wrecks, and once an overturned bus, blocking the bridge.

When they reached the first of the two guards, lying face down on the roof of a car, Sid paused, and grimaced. The bullet had torn through the Raider's chest, just below his sternum.

"Fuck me, you're a good shot."

Several minutes later, they passed the corpse of the other Raider. His foot must have caught in a tangle of cabling as he fell, and the Raider was now dangling, legs splayed, a few metres from the surface of the bridge.

"Fuck me _sideways_," Sid muttered.

"I'd rather not." Ferris suppressed a grin at the compliment.

They reached the end of the bridge, and picked up their pace. The railway tunnel out of the Pitt wasn't far away now. There was a passage that led from the end of the bridge, winding its way between two sheer rock faces. On the other side was what was left of the old Pittsburgh train yard. There were freight carriages parked on the rails there, that led down to the single remaining tunnel that made its way through the mountains.

Ferris heard the gunfire again. It was louder and more distinct now. And was coming from the way out.

"You've got to be kidding me," Ferris groaned. He glanced at Sid. The two of them advanced, their weapons held at the ready.

There was a fire fight at the train yard.

Fifteen Raiders were taking cover around and on the freight carriages. They were shooting at a small group of people sheltering in the remains of the platform. Ferris caught sight of a brown duster.

"Regulators?" He uttered.

"What?"

"On the platform. They're Regulators."

"So, your friends then?"

Ferris nodded. "We've got to help them."

Suddenly one of the Regulators popped up out of cover and fired a burst from her SMG. The bullets struck a Raider in the chest, dropped him. She dived back into cover as the now dead Raider's pals let loose a fusillade. The bullets peppered her cover, sending up a lethal cloud of concrete chips.

"Those are pretty big odds, you know."

Ferris looked at him.

"What the hell. They won't know what hit them."

They darted across the open ground to the nearest carriage. None of the Raiders saw them; they were too focused on the Regulators. Ferris gestured at Sid. He nodded in agreement at the silent order, glanced down the length of the carriage, then ran across to the next one. He disappeared behind it.

Ferris brought up his borrowed rifle. The Chinese assault rifle was different to his old one. The stock was bare-bones, and it felt bulkier, but it worked. For a moment, he wondered whether his old rifle and his pistol were still lying under the floorboards of that shack, or if some wasteland explorer had discovered them. He shook off the thought, and stepped out of cover.

There were three Raiders at the other end of the carriage. Two were taking cover behind a pile of sandbags, whilst the third used the carriage itself.

He fired the rifle on full auto. The Raiders hadn't expected to be ambushed from behind. There was no way the Regulators could have circled round them; there was no cover except the platform, and the carriages and sandbags they occupied. All three jerked as the bullets struck in a spray of crimson. Ferris dived back behind the carriage. He heard a boom as Sid fired his combat shotgun, followed by a yelp cut short.

"We're being flanked!" The cry came from above, on the catwalk above the carriages. Another burst from Ferris' rifle took the Raider in the legs.

Realising that someone had come to their aid, the Regulators renewed their attack on the now disorientated Raiders. It didn't take long.

"Come out where we can see you!" One of the Regulators shouted.

"That you, Lucas?" Ferris called. He strode out, carrying his assault rifle languidly in one hand.

"Motherfucker. Ferris?"

The five Regulators approached. They were all grinning. Lucas walked in the middle, cradling his rifle, and beside him was Katrina. He recognised the other three: Greg, Maxine and Leonard. Katrina broke into a run and flung herself at Ferris. Her arms clamped around his neck. He thought he heard a whimper.

"I thought you guys were on patrol at the border?" Ferris asked once Katrina's grip loosened. She pulled away to stand next to him, her cheeks flushed.

"We were," Leonard said. "Saw Katrina here following a supply convoy heading out of the city. She filled us in about Sonora. Tracked the convoy the rest of the way, and came back here to get help."

"How'd you find out about me?"

Lucas grinned. "Well, that would be my doing. When you didn't come back from Paradise Falls I decided to pay them a visit. Turns out Penelope's quite forthcoming when you know how to ask the questions. Got back to Megaton when these four arrived, so we thought we'd mount a rescue. Looks like we didn't need to, though."

"Still, I appreciate it."

"Freeze!" Maxine suddenly yelled. The red head yanked out her magnum, aiming it at the end of one of the carriages. "Fucking get out here, now. _Slowly_."

Sid complied, stepping out into sight. He held up his shotgun over his head. "This slow enough for you?"

"Hold your fire!" Ferris pushed Maxine's gun up, spoiling her aim. "He's with me," he added at the annoyed look on her face.

"Name's Sid. Can I put my arms down now?" He glanced uncomfortably at the five guns that were now suddenly aimed in his direction.

Ferris nodded.

"Cheers. Nice to meet you all." He gave Maxine the once over, and grinned. "Especially you."

"Charmed." She snorted, holstering her revolver.

Ferris turned to Katrina. "Where's Sonora?"

"We tracked the convoy to Cincinnati. They took her to farmland there, with a big house in the middle of it all. Belongs to some big landowner down there. And Ferris? Leroy was with them."

"Good," Ferris growled. His hands curled into fists. "I think that bastard's lived long enough. Sid, up for another adventure?"

"Is this one going to involve more walking above long drops?"

"No, but there'll probably be a big shootout."

Sid grinned. "Count me in. Always wanted to go to Cincinnati anyway."

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	13. Layover in Little Weston

**Layover in Little Weston**

"I never thought I'd miss a bath this much," Katrina said. She ran her hands through her lank, chestnut hair, before retying it in a tight ponytail.

"You should try standing downwind of Ferris,' Sid muttered. 'The smell could give a bramin a run for its money."

The others chuckled.

"We could all do with a bath. How far to the next town?" Ferris asked Leonard.

The Regulator was studying the old map as he walked, keeping one eye on the road.

After nearly two weeks, the seven companions had crossed into Cincinnati, following the line of the interstate freeway down from the Pitt. Not much of the road had survived in one piece, the surface cracked and pitted, buried under mudslides and rock falls as it wound its way through hills and around mountains. Every so often, they had come across a solitary road sign, still sticking up beside the road, the lettering and directions nothing more than faint markings that were barely legible. Two centuries of weather abrasion had seriously taken its toll. Not to mention the bullet holes that peppered them.

There had been little sign of any other travellers on the route, though once or twice they had caught sight of trade convoys in the distance, long lines of bramin laden with goods, troops of guards and merchants keeping pace with them.

"Just over the next rise, maybe fifteen kilometres away."

"How far was the plantation after that?"

"Thirty six kilometres."

"Okay, we'll reach the town by late afternoon, so we'll rest up there for the night."

That brought a few murmurs of assent from the others. Conversation had been sparse during the journey from the Pitt, despite Sid's best efforts to start up any. Most of the others kept stonewalling him, either too disinterested or too focused on where they were going. Not that he could blame them from what Ferris had told him. All of them cared about the girl who'd been kidnapped. The only one who'd actually deigned to chat to him was Maxine, and that suited Sid just fine. Despite her earlier hostility when they met, she warmed to him quite quickly, and, as it turned out, had a wicked sense of humour. Whilst the others had plodded on in near silence, he and Maxine had chatted and traded jokes. It had made the trip more than bearable.

The only other two who had spent as much time together were Ferris and Katrina. Sid had watched her drift close to Ferris at every available opportunity, almost as if she didn't want to let him out of her sight again. Maxine had commented on it several times, whenever they were out of earshot of the other Regulators.

Would be about time Ferris got a little bit lucky, Sid decided. The man certainly needed to blow off a little steam.

It took two more hours for them to reach Little Weston. The town was nestled in the lee of a massive old tree, beside the shore of lake Isabella. The tree was over forty metres tall, its trunk twelve metres in diameter. After the nuclear bombs fells few of the trees that had occupied the area around the lake had remained standing, and even less had survived the fallout. Except this one. Somehow, it had thrived unchecked, until its branches covered an area the size of a football pitch, a thick canopy of leaves that was a perfect shelter during the summer rains. In the autumn, the leaves fell like copper snow, lying in a dense layer on the streets of the town and gathering in drifts that had to be cleared before they started to rot.

The tree was the first thing the group saw. At this time of year, the massive canopy of vibrant green leaves was like a beacon that could be seen for miles around. Nestled around its base, the town seemed tiny and insignificant in comparison, a collection of wooden and metal shacks and single storey buildings, surrounded by a three metre high defensive wall.

Two guards stood watch on either side of the main gates, along with a couple of old and battered protectrons, the robots patrolling back and forth in pre-programmed patterns. Neither guard attempted to stop them as Ferris and the others walked towards the gates; one even touched his peaked cap in greeting. Then they were through the gates and into the town proper.

The main thoroughfare ran all the way to the central town square, narrow streets and alleys running off between the buildings. The road was dirt, hard packed by thousands of feet, the buildings sitting on thick stilts that raised them a foot above the surface. People were going about their business, a mix of town folk and other travellers. They even spotted a couple of mercenary bands, dressed in full combat armour and carrying an assortment of weapons. The local residents barely spared the seven travellers a glance as they made their way down the main road and up to the town square, where the market was still in full swing. Stalls were packed into the square, hawkers shouting out their wares. Food sellers were set up incongruously next to arms dealers and armour merchants next to iron mongers. It produced a cacophony of noise.

Ferris led the others around the edge of the square, seeking a hotel, or at least somewhere they could find with four walls and a roof. He wasn't fussy after spending two weeks roughing it. But he had to agree with Katrina; a bath would be nice.

They found one on the other side of the square. It was a two storey building, metal sheets bolted onto a timber frame, and the tallest building in the square. The only building taller was the town hall beyond, built against the trunk of the massive tree. Small windows lined the second storey of the hotel, and several more poked out of the angled roof.

Inside the, hotel took a simple layout, there was a desk a few metres in front of the door, and to either side, archways led to a flight of stairs on the left, and a bar on the right. Ferris could see a number of tables in the bar area, chairs clustered around them. People were sat at several, drinking some local brew. They ignored the new arrivals.

"Can I help you?" The woman standing behind the desk asked.

"Seven rooms for the night."

She smiled politely at Ferris. "I'm sorry sir, but I'm afraid we don't have enough rooms available. We currently have four rooms."

"Do they have two beds?"

"They do, sir."

"We'll take them. How much?"

"That will be two hundred and eighty four caps."

"Lot of money for just four rooms." Sid muttered.

"We have a flat rate for double suites."

"How about two hundred?" The woman shot Sid a scornful look. They started haggling over the price. Ferris was unsurprised at Sid's proficiency, not after spending several weeks with him in the Pitt. But the others looked on, their faces ranging from amazement to disgust. But none argued, or tried to stop him. They all looked to Ferris for leadership, even Lucas, despite his seniority. But then, Lucas had spent far too long in Megaton as Sheriff. And if Ferris was content to let Sid haggle the price of the rooms, then so be it.

Eventually, the haggling ended. Ferris took out his money pouch, and handed over the amount; one hundred and ninety caps, ignoring the smug expression on Sid's face. He'd even managed to wrangle the use of the hotel's wash facilities. The woman smiled and scooped up the coins, then handed over the keys for the rooms.

The rooms were upstairs on the first floor. The stairs went up and round the back, opening onto a corridor lit by gas lamps set along the walls, providing a pleasant, gentle glow. There were doors in between the lamps, each with a number painted neatly on it.

They came to an unspoken agreement about the sleeping arrangements. Katrina and Maxine were to naturally share their room, and given their time spent in the Pitt, Ferris didn't mind sharing with Sid. Lucas was the only one to have his own room, the old regulator turned sheriff was the only one who'd not spent the last several years roughing it in the field, and the journey had taken a far greater toll on him.

Opening the door to the room he was to share with Sid, Ferris was impressed to find that the room was well furnished, the two single beds replete with sheets and quilts. Far more than he was used to in DC. There you would be lucky enough to actually have a mattress. Whether it was lice-ridden or mouldy was not something you tended to ask. The beds were set on either side of a chest of drawers being used as a bedside table, a brass lamp sitting on top. The curtains were open, letting warm sunlight into the room. A painting had been hung on one wall, a scene depicting the great tree.

"This'll do," Ferris said. Sid nodded in agreement.

*

The first thing Ferris did once he settled in, much to Sid's amusement, was to have a shower. The washrooms were all at the far end of the corridor, an open doorway leading to a tiled room that had been split in two, one side with the women's showers, the other for the men. The water was pleasantly hot, blanketing the room in a light humid fog. He spent five minutes under the stream, just letting the water sluice away the dirt and grime before he started with the soap. He was mildly surprised to find that the soap bar was locally made, giving off a mild scent of citrus.

Ferris tested his shoulder reflexively. After all the time in the Pitt, he'd expected the injury from the fight with the Deathclaw to be playing up to some degree, but it was nicely healed now, with only a faint trace of stiffness left. But the stream of hot water had solved that.

Finally clean, Ferris towelled himself dry and made his way out of the washroom with the towel wrapped around his waist. And nearly bumped into Katrina coming out of the women's room.

"Ah! God, sorry Ferris," Katrina yelped.

"No harm, no worries. Sorry I startled you," Ferris said. He glanced down at her, wry amusement curling his lips.

Katrina blinked up at him through still wet curtains of hair. The water had darkened the colour to a deep chestnut. He'd never noticed how startling her eyes were, a dark green in colour. Suddenly he realised that like him, she was dressed in nothing but a towel, hers wrapped around her torso, covering her breasts and leaving long, smooth legs bare. His eyes were drawn down to the swell of her breasts. It took a great effort to pull them back.

"Um, best let you get back to your room to dry off," he said, clearing his throat. "Don't want you to, catch a cold."

She blushed. "Thanks. I'll see you later?"

He nodded in reply, and watched her walk back to her room, eyes firmly glued to her rear as she sauntered. She turned to smile at him over her shoulder, then was gone. Her door closing behind her.

"Wow," he breathed.

Sid was already back and dressed when he returned to their room, sat on his bed surrounded by the parts to his shotgun. His damp hair was plastered to his skull.

"You took your time." He didn't glance up from the shotgun barrel, which he was cleaning with a brush.

"I really needed a shower. And it was worth the extra time," he added under his breath.

"Huh?"

"Never mind."

Ferris dressed swiftly, pulling back on the merc clothes he'd stolen a lifetime and another state ago. They felt rather disgusting, still coated with their own layer of dirt, but he didn't have any spares, and at least the jacket had its own armour inserts, that completed the flak vest he normally wore underneath. He made a mental note to find replacements for his regulator gear as soon as possible.

Picking up his rifle, he sat down on his own bed, and followed Sid's example, stripping the gun down to its component pieces and cleaning each one in turn. He was surprised how little maintenance the rifle needed compared to his old assault rifle. It's old owner hadn't been the most careful of raiders, but it was still in good working order, despite a slight fouling around the breach. He soon cleaned that away with a brush. He noticed that the receiver was starting to look a little worn, and made a mental note to pick up a replacement before they left the town.

Ferris was halfway through his cleaning when there was a knock at the door. It opened and Katrina poked her head round.

"Ferris, can I speak to you for a moment?"

"Sure. What's up?" he said, putting down the part he was cleaning to look at her. Her hair was still a little damp.

"In private?"

He gave Sid a quick glance. "Okay."

Ferris followed Katrina back to the room she shared with Maxine. Their bags sat at the end of their beds, Katrina's already opened and fresh clothes poking out. Maxine's had been untouched.

They stared at each other, the silence building between them. A blush started to redden Katrina's cheeks.

"I was so worried about you," she finally blurted. "When you told me to gather the others, and didn't come back, I went to Paradise Falls."

"I'm glad you came for me."

She pouted "Not that you needed us, though."

"I don't know," Ferris said, smiling. "I don't think we'd have got through to the tunnels without your help."

"You don't know how glad I was to see you." Suddenly she let out a sob, and dived at him, wrapping her arms tight around him.

Staggered by the outburst, Ferris settled his arms around her in return, and rested his head on the top of hers. She smelled like roses. It surprised him how perfect it felt having her in his arms. They stood there for a long time. Big sobs wracked her shoulders.

Eventually she pulled away and looked up at him. She looked so tragic with the streaks of tears running down her cheeks. So beautiful.

Katrina made the first move.

She pushed her self up on her tip toes and gave his a gentle kiss on the lips. Then another. Suddenly they were kissing passionately. Her tongue slipped through his lips to touch his, sending a jolt of fire down his spine and straight to his balls.

The moment came two minutes into the kiss. His hands slid down to her rump and squeezed, eliciting a moan. They staggered back into the door, slamming it closed. She jumped, wrapping her legs around him, pressing her pelvis against him. It was his turn to let out a moan. Hands moved to the buttons of her top and swiftly undid them, revealing soft skin, surprisingly smooth for a wasteland girl. Her breasts were cradled in a low cut bra, erect nipples poking at the material.

Ferris slipped her top from her shoulders, letting it flutter to the floor, forgotten. They moved back to the bed. Then Katrina's hands were tugging at his clothing, removing them swiftly. Fingers deftly unbuckled his belt and zip. They pushed under the waistband of his pants and gripped the shaft of his cock. Ferris groaned again and kissed her hard. He tore at the clasp of her bra. Threw the bra across the room. It landed on the back of a chair. Fingers squeezed her nipples playfully.

"Where's Maxine?" Ferris breathed.

"In the bar. Not coming back for hours." Katrina groaned.

"Perfect."

He pushed her back onto the bed. She pulled him down with her. He trailed kisses down her neck, stopping a couple of times when she moaned with ecstasy. His mouth lingered over her breasts for a while, teasing the nipples with his tongue, while her hands ran through his hair. Then he was moving again, leaving a trail of kisses and saliva down toward her belly button, then the waistline of her trousers.

She was moaning almost constantly now. Ferris tugged off her trousers. He kissed her inner thigh. She moaned louder. His mouth found her clit. The moan became a squeal as hot fire raged down her nerves, lighting a miniature supernova in her skull. Katrina pushed his face deep between her thighs, holding him there as she moaned and writhed.

"Oh god, do you know what you're doing to me?" she moaned.

Eventually, she couldn't take any more, and she pulled him up to her. Katrina kissed him.

"I want you, inside me." And she was yanking at his trousers. They ended up somewhere at the bottom of the bed.

He felt his cock sliding up against her. Then he thrust, gently at first. The tip slid in easily. She moaned as she felt him push inside. It was wonderful and amazing. Katrina's legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper. They started moving in tandem, panting as the rhythm got faster and faster towards blissful release.

Ferris felt it happening. His balls started to clench, and then he was coming. Moments later, Katrina orgasmed, pulsing around his cock. They lay together, panting in post-coital bliss.

"That was, amazing," Katrina breathed.

"Absolutely. You want to do that again?" Ferris said, kissing her.

"Definitely!"

*

Sid glanced up when he heard the bang, followed by a loud moan. When it didn't happen again, he went back to reassembling his shotgun.

Then he heard a squeal. He frowned at the wall. Was Ferris hurting her? He thought. Then it dawned on him. "At least someone's getting lucky."

The moaning got louder and more distracting, to the point where he tried to attached the stock to the barrel. When squeals started to intersect the moans, Sid decided he'd had enough.

"How do they expect me to work under these conditions? Bloody inconsiderate." He closed the bedroom door behind him and headed down to the bar.

There were still very few people there, most clustered around the tables, though others were standing up next to the bar. Maxine was at the far end, a gap between her and the closest patron, who kept looking her way. Sid saw the red mark on his face and grinned. Somebody tried his luck unsuccessfully.

"Beer," Sid said. He took the space next to Maxine, dropping a handful of caps on the table and taking the bottle the bartender gave him.

Maxine smiled at him and raised her own bottle. Clinked.

"Cheers,"

"Cheers. Been having trouble with the locals?"

Maxine grimaced. "They wont take a hint. I'm almost tempted to go back up to the room"

"Really wouldn't suggest you do that right now. You might get an eyeful."

"Seriously? Who-" she froze mid sentence, then her eyes widened. "Ferris?"

"Yup. Besides, I've only just come downstairs. You wouldn't want to deprive a bloke of company?"

"Do you know how to take a hint?"

"Not a clue," he said, grinning.

Every person in the bar looked up at the ceiling. They all heard the moan this time.

"Fuck, is that-"

"Yep. You wanna-"

"Get out of this place and go for a walk?" Maxine finished for him. "Hell yes."

Sid downed the rest of his beer in one go.


	14. Interlude 03

**Interlude 03**

"He wants to see you."

Sonora hacked through the tough stalks with her hand-scythe before looking up at the owner of the voice. The girl it belonged to was one of the scullery girls. She was young, barely ten years old, dressed in a shabby dress with stains on the knees. There was a fearful look in her eyes.

She swallowed. "When?"

"Before sundown. He, he said I should tell you to wash first. He said he wants you clean."

For a fleeting moment, Sonora felt like screaming at the girl, lashing out at her. But that wouldn't be fair. She was just a messenger after all. Even if the message was one that left her hands trembling with fear. Instead, she thanked the girl, and told her to go back to her chores. The cook who ran the kitchen was more than likely to beat her with the rolling pin he carried around if she was gone too long.

Sonora watched the girl run off, and returned to her own duties. Ever since she'd arrived at the farm almost two months ago, she had been detailed to the slave teams who worked the fields, tasked with harvesting the food crop. It was hard work, the Supervisors working the slaves to the point of exhaustion. She had only tried to escape once, managing to get beyond the hills before she was caught. Leroy had been the one to find her. He'd caught her almost effortlessly, pinning her to the ground and raping her again before he dragged her back to the mansion for a beating from her team's Supervisor. Her back had been sore for a week, covered in red weals.

Finishing up, She loaded her satchel with the heads of corn and headed back to the mansion, depositing the bag in the kitchen and handing her scythe over to her Supervisor. She could do no less these days. They were watching her carefully.

She headed upstairs to Leroy's quarters, knocking before entering. She was somewhat relieved to find them empty; still out on duty then. At least that meant she would have some time to herself. One small mercy. She stripped off her simple tunic and stepped into the shower. The water was tepid, but enough for her needs. She allowed the jet of water to sluice some of the dirt away before soaping a sponge and scrubbing herself down.

Sonora didn't remember much of the journey that took her from the familiarity of DC to the mansion. Most of it had been spent in the back of a caravan with a dozen other slaves, locked up in tight confines like sardines, let out only for a few hours to stretch their legs each night when the caravans stopped. For the first few days, she hadn't seen Leroy, and a part of her had felt relieved, that she'd finally escaped his grasp. With him gone, the terror that had accompanied every thought of him slipped away, and she had started to plan her escape. Once she was free and away, she'd be able to make her way back to DC and plan her revenge. But then, on the second day, she'd seen him. Fear had rooted her to the spot as he sauntered over, grinning at her. He'd dragged her away from the caravan, finding a secluded spot in some bushes where he spent the next few hours raping her. It became a common occurrence. She'd tried fighting at first, but that just earned her a backhand slap across the face, then he fucked her anyway. Over the weeks, she divorced herself from it, hoping that he would get bored and leave her alone. It didn't work.

Sonora finished showering and towelled herself dry. She lay down on the bed and mentally started preparing herself for him, shutting her mind away until she was simply staring blankly into space. Distantly, she told herself that it worked, that it kept her sane. That it allowed her to plan her eventual escape from servitude.

She knew it was a lie.

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	15. Red Sky at Night

**Red Sky at Night**

Life was good.

Leroy leaned against the window frame, staring out over the vast plantation fields. The sun was slowly edging its way down to the horizon, casting an umber glow over the fields of wheat and barley. The watchtowers switched on their searchlights as dusk fell.

The plantation lay a few miles south of Cincinnati and the Ohio River, just off Interstate 75. Fields and fields surrounding a central manor house of brick and timber. Amazingly, most of the house had survived intact down the years. Once the current owner had – forcefully – evicted the scavengers who'd been living in it, it hadn't taken long to fix. New roofing panels had been tacked over the holes in the roof, and rotted floorboards were replaced, as were the glass panes in the windows. Compared to the derelict places most of humanity seemed to be forced to live in, the house was a little oasis of civility.

Cincinnati had been hit by an atom bomb during the war, almost completely obliterating it. Only radioactive remains were left; shattered buildings and structures whose half-life could be measured in centuries. Only ghouls could live there now, safe from attack by normal humans.

Shame, Leroy thought. He would've liked to go there to hunt some filthy ghouls. It disgusted him that he'd been forced to take a contract from a filthy ghoul to get what he wanted, but it was worth it. One day, it would be nice to head back to the Capital Wasteland and deal with Robert. Leroy smirked as he thought about thrusting his knife into the ghoul's stomach and letting his rotting guts spill out. It was a pleasant thought. Still, it paled next to his current life of luxury.

He turned his back to the window. Things had changed since he last saw Ferris in Paradise Falls. Penelope had introduced him to one of her clients, a business man called Clayton North. Clayton had been quite impressed with his resume, enough so that he offered a contract to Leroy for his skills. It was a lucrative fee that he'd been hard pressed to turn down. Especially when he learned that Clayton had also bought Sonora. Six weeks of travel later, and they'd arrived at the farm. It had been a fun journey; several times they'd been attacked by Raiders and roving bands of super mutants. Each time Leroy had proven his worth, taking down his targets with single shots from his hunting rifle before they knew what hit them. He remembered one Raider, a woman, her hair shaped into a Mohawk. They'd broken the Raiders, the remainder fleeing to the hills. He'd winged her as she ran, taking her leg out from underneath her. When he finally caught up, she'd been lying on her back, panting, feebly trying to reach her pistol, but it was too far out of reach. Leroy had kicked it aside anyway, and crouched down, straddling her. With his knife, he'd carelessly cut her clothes from her, and fucked her in the grass. She was dead before he was finished; bleed-out from her wound. Fun while it lasted though.

His suite of rooms occupied one corner of the top floor of the house, above the servant quarters. The main room contained the bed, a big, wooden framed double bed with satin sheets. An antique dresser sat in one corner, along with an equally smart wardrobe. The floor was covered in a plush red carpet, and next to the window was a high-backed wooden chair. Two other rooms were adjacent to the bedroom, one a study, and the other a proper bathroom, with a metal tub. He'd stared at the tub in shock when he first saw it, then spent the next several hours soaking in hot, soapy water. A luxury he had never been able to enjoy as a Regulator. All his now.

And lying on the bed, her hands tied to the bed posts, was Sonora. She had fainted during their last session almost an hour ago, and hadn't woken yet. The tatters of her clothes lay scattered around the bed. She would have to get new ones in the morning, and that would most likely result in her being beaten again.

Leroy grinned as he stared avidly at her naked, nubile form. Her nipples were slick, bruised peaks atop her small breasts. He felt his cock begin to grow again. During the day, she was forced to work the fields with all the other slaves. By night, she was his own personal fuck slave to do with as he wished. It was an arrangement Clayton had no knowledge of, but Leroy doubted that he would care, as long as she did her job. Besides, from what he'd heard, half of the staff was screwing some slave or other.

Sonora stirred on the bed, straining against the ropes tied around her wrists, but she didn't wake. Slowly, Leroy removed his clothes, throwing them over the back of the chair.

She was his now, subservient to him, as it should have been, as it should be.

Leroy paused. For a moment, he thought he'd heard a low boom. When it didn't repeat itself, he shrugged. Probably one of the riverboats. He had other concerns right now.

He climbed onto the bed and pushed her legs apart. She was still sticky from before, thighs shiny and slick.

Sonora didn't wake as he pushed himself into her.

She didn't stay sleeping long.

* * *

Ferris studied the manor house through his binoculars. He felt worry gnawing away at his guts, a feeling that had been with him every day, getting stronger the closer they got to Sonora. Now it was almost unbearable. He wanted to race down there, charge his way through the fields and into the house, blowing away anyone who got in his way until he reached Sonora and could finally take her away from here.

He let out a slow breath, forcing the tempting thoughts away. She'd been like a little sister to him for a long time. He had watched her grow from a toddle into a young woman. Ferris had understood Morgan's protectiveness, wanting to protect her from the harsh reality of the wasteland. Felt it himself, if he was honest. She was innocent, and innocence should be protected. That was, to Ferris' mind, the whole reason the Regulators existed in the first place. Now innocence was held captive only a few hundred metres from him.

After all those weeks of waiting, now was not a good time to try and fuck things up, he reminded himself.

The manor house lay in the middle of a valley, surrounded by its fields. Paths cut through the fields, radiating out in straight lines from the house, putting it at the centre of a giant spider web drawn across the ground. There were people in the fields, nothing more than black specks at this distance. Most were making their way back to the manor house, or the slave huts at the back, two rows of ten, crude wooden huts, barely big enough to house one person apiece. A quick head count told Ferris there were around fifty slaves. Others walked amongst the slaves, moving at a slower, steady pace, weapons cradled in their arms. Guards. There were maybe six of them, doing their rounds, with another unknown number in the house. Three watchtowers sat on the perimeter of the fields. They would be a problem.

At the opposite end of the valley, the Ohio River cut across it, a wide expanse of radioactive water, its surface golden in the setting sun. There were paddle boats and small fishing boats on the water, drifting about their business in the setting sun, on their way back from long hauls, or carrying passengers and cargo to their destination. Steam from paddleboats drifted lazily into the still air.

Ferris brought his gaze back to the manor house.

From his position, lying on a bank at the top of the valley, he commanded a good view of the house and its surrounding land. He was well hidden; unlike the wastelands surrounding DC, the ground here had not been blasted into sterility. Yellowed grass still grew, and offered plentiful cover. The house was a big building, L-shaped, with large windows. There were obvious patch jobs on the roof and the walls where cladding had been replaced, the workers unable to match the original work. For all that, it was an impressive building, and could hide any number of guards, slaves and servants. Aside from the guards patrolling the fields, and standing watch in the towers, he couldn't see any standing guard over the entrances to the house.

Satisfied he'd gleaned all he could, Ferris crawled down the side of the hill, and back to where the others waited for him. They all sat in a rough circle, cleaning and maintaining their weapons. All except Sid. He was lying on his back, snoring softly, the hood of his sweater pulled up so that the peak covered his eyes. His Shotgun was lying by his side.

Ferris nudged him with his foot as he passed, and sat down next to Katrina. Sid yawned and sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He pushed his hood back down and scratched his goatee. His blond hair was an unruly mess.

"I was having a nice dream," Sid said reproachfully.

"What of?" Maxine asked. Despite her initial hostility, she'd quickly warmed to the wastelander as they trekked across the open wilderness, following the path of the caravan. It had taken them two weeks to reach Cincinnati, stopping off a couple of times at small towns to stock up on supplies and to get a decent night's sleep in beds instead of on cold, hard ground. Each time Ferris had been the first up, chivvying the others along.

"Bright sunny beaches, ocean waves lapping the shore. I was drinking a cocktail. A mohito, I think."

"Sounds lovely."

"You were there too."

Maxine giggled. The other Regulators shot a surprised look at her. Maxine never giggled.

Ferris coughed. At least Maxine had the good grace to blush. She studied the mechanism of her magnum intently.

"The place is well defended," he said. Picking up a stick, he started to etch out the layout of the grounds, detailing the paths the guards took, the location of the towers.

Lucas scratched his beard. "Gonna be a tough nut to get into."

"I'm welcome to any ideas."

"Those towers are a problem," Greg said, gesturing at them. "They've a good view of the surroundings. Doubt you could even sneak through the fields without being spotted. Spotlights?'"

"They'd need to go first then. Kill the lookouts before they can see you and raise the alarm."

"We need a distraction though," Katrina piped up. "Something to keep their attention away from us until it's too late."

Sid chuckled, a low dirty laugh.

After several weeks spent in close proximity in the Pitt, Ferris could say that he knew Sid fairly well. And he knew that laugh.

"Go on, Sid."

"Well," he said, leaning back on his hands. "Seems to me that it's pretty balmy, this time of year here. Not a lot of rain. I'll bet those fields are getting pretty dry, don't you think mate?"

"That's-" Katrina blurted.

"Genius, I know. I have moments like that."

"And how do you think we're going do it? Rub two sticks together?"

He waved towards his satchel bag, and lay back down. "Main compartment. Feel free to take a look."

Shaking his head, Ferris reached over and picked up the back by its strap and dragged it closer. He didn't need to, really. He already knew what was inside. He pulled back the flap.

"Son of a bitch," Greg breathed. "Where did you get them?"

"Last town. One of the market stalls had a few. Thought I'd pick them up, for a special occasion."

"Like this?" Ferris asked, grinning.

"Just like this. Feel free to applaud now."

"I'll save it for when you do something really stupendous."

"You mean this doesn't count? That sucks, mate."

"When the hell did you find time to buy them?" Greg asked.

"Went for a walk," Sid replied, glancing at Ferris.

Ferris took his meaning. He cleared his throat. "Alright, this is what we're going to do."

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	16. Finger Trap

**Finger Trap**

Reaching the bottom of the hill, Ferris darted across the open ground. He made it to the edge of the wheat field just in time, sliding down into the ditch that bordered the fields. The searchlight of the nearest watchtower slid overhead. The long thing stalks lit up in the harsh artificial glow, bleaching them of colour. For a moment, the light paused in its continuous search. Ferris held his breath. Had he inadvertently elbowed the nearest stalks? It would be disastrous to come all this way, to have survived his time in the Pitt, just to fail in sight of the end.

Move, damn you, he thought at the guard manning the tower. There's nothing here.

Suddenly a rabbit burst out of the field, fleeing into the darkness in great bounds, its snowy fur ablaze in the light. It must have been disturbed by his presence, then startled by the light. For a few more seconds, the light held over the spot the rabbit had burst from, waiting for any more movement. When none came, it moved on.

Ferris let out the breath he'd been holding.

Moments later, he was joined by Sid and Katrina.

"Are the others in place?"

"I think so."

"Good. Then I guess we just wait for the signal from Greg."

They settled down to wait. The sun dropped below the horizon, plunging the valley into complete darkness. There was a new moon tonight, and even that was hidden as clouds drifted overhead, obscuring even the faint glow from the stars that became visible. The only source of light was the manor house, sitting in its own artificial glow from a multitude of light bulbs hanging from the porch, even a few up-lights pointing their beams at the sides of the structure.

"That is quite possible the gaudiest, tacky light show I've ever seen," Sid whispered. "Who does this Lord bloke think he is?"

"Lord Montague,' Katrina corrected. "A better question would be where does he get the power for it all."

"Good point. Well?"

"Well what?"

'"Where does he get all the power from?"

"How should I know?"

"I thought you knew. You were sounding like a condescending insufferable know-it-all."

"Screw you!"

"No thanks. Didn't you get enough from Ferris?" Sid grinned widely at her.

"That's none of your business," Katrina growled, feeling her cheeks flush crimson.

Sig grunted. "Should've told that to the patrons in the inn. Did you know you squeal?"

"I do not!"

"Knock it off, Sid." Ferris said.

"Just trying to pass the time."

"Find another way. A quieter one."

"Okay. Do you know how this Lord whatisface powers the lights?"

"There're two petrol generators at the back of the house. How do you feel about knocking them out?"

Sid slipped his shotgun off his back. "Be delighted to, mate."

"You're not going to use that are you?" Katrina asked, wrinkling her nose in contempt.

"Of course. What's wrong with it?"

"We're trying to be stealthy, that's what."

"Stealthy? How does that work?"

Katrina opened her mouth to reply. The light slid back overhead again.

"By not using a fucking cannon!" she snarled through gritted teeth once it was gone.

"At least I know they're not getting up after I shoot them." Before Katrina could blurt out her angry retort, Sid climbed out of the ditch and was gone.

"How do you put up with him? He's, he's-"

"Sarcastic? Laconic? Everything Regulators generally aren't? He grows on you after a while." Ferris said.

"I'm not feeling it yet."

He took up her hand and squeezed it. "You will. If it wasn't for Sid, I'd probably still be rotting away in the Pitt."

"We might have rescued you," Katrina said. She squeezed his hand back and leaned closer.

"From an entire city of raiders? Just the five of you?"

"Well, we might have."

She kissed him. It was gentle, a touch of the lips. They held it for a few precious moments before they finally drew apart.

Ferris brought his mouth to her ear. "If you say so. One thing though. You know you do squeal, don't you?"

She hit him. "Bastard."

"When this night's over, I fully intend to make you squeal even more."

"Who says you'll get to?" She said. The tone didn't quite match the words though.

"This." He kissed her again.

"Cheat," she said, a trace of humour in her voice.

From the hill, there was a tiny flash of light. The guard in the nearest watchtower jerked suddenly, as if he'd been struck with a sledgehammer, and dropped bonelessly. Moments later, a distant boom echoed across the valley like thunder. There were two more flashes followed by two more booms. The guards in the other watchtowers dropped silently, the .308 calibre sniper bullets tearing through lung and throat respectively. All the lights froze in their sweeps. They had a few minutes, Ferris gauged, before the patrols noticed and started to check. Plenty of time.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel path near them.

The guard sauntered along with a slow, measured pace, his shotgun held loosely in both hands. Despite the light from the manor house, and the powerful beams of the searchlights, a small flashlight had been bolted to the barrel of his shotgun. With the absolute darkness of the valley, the light served to light his own path as he walked his assigned patrol. His took a triangular path, following the perimeter of one of the field segments, from the house and to the watchtower at the far end, and back again. Eventually, his patrol brought him close to the first watchtower.

He was fed up of these endless patrols. If the boss thought his estates were in that much danger, he should buy a few sentry bots, let them patrol endlessly. That way, he could put his feet up in the guard hut, maybe even get a hot brew in at the same time. Even better than that, he considered, would be some time with one of the slaves. Some of the girls were damn fine, especially the new girl. Except he had a sneaking suspicion the boss' new bodyguard had already put his claim on her. He grimaced at the image the thought evoked. He didn't like the new guy, Leroy. There was something, _reptilian_ about him.

If he tried anything, the Boss would put him down for good.

He glanced up at the watchtower. It was twenty metres away, the beam pointing in the opposite direction to him, right at the house itself. He frowned at that. It wasn't moving, just kept steadily aimed at the edge of the field near the house. Jűrgen was a right stickler for following the rules.

His nose wrinkled as he caught a whiff of something acrid, drifting on the light breeze. He suppressed a cough. Smelled like something was burning. Then he saw the orange glow in the next field. There was a _whoosh _felt more than heard. Flames suddenly leapt high.

"Shit! Fir-" That was as far as he got. Ferris' hand clamped over his mouth. His knife slid across his throat, one quick motion. The guard went limp as blood spurted out of the gaping wound in his neck. Dropping the corpse, Ferris cleaned his knife on the dead man's clothes, and sheathed it.

"Come on," he said. "We don't have much time before they notice the fire."

The fire in the field spread quickly. The stalks were dry; the hot sun had done a good of drying them out, leaving them brittle and easy to cut. The harvest would have been fair, enough to provide a sizeable amount of flour to be sold or bartered. Lord Montague would have got a good price for them from the nearby towns who were unable to grow their own food. The land was too irradiated to support decent food crops, except in the valley. With his newly acquired slaves, he would be able to increase the yield, tripling the size of the fields until they covered the entire valley. There were faint popping sound as the heads of wheat were consumed in the raging inferno. In minutes the fire spread across the fields they had been started in. It wasn't long before they jumped the gap and flames sprang up in adjacent fields.

* * *

It was easy finding the generator hut, though the path Sid had to take was circuitous, taking him around the perimeter of the wheat fields, avoiding the searchlights and any patrolling guards. He figured it was fairly likely that they weren't on the lookout for intruders, more to prevent slaves from escaping. But that didn't mean he actively wanted to bump into anyone.

Despite his glib response to Katrina, her patronising attitude had rankled him a little. He honestly couldn't see what Ferris saw in her. She was far too stuck up her own arse.

Except for a fantastic body, he conceded. A bit little young for his tastes though. Now Maxine was a woman he'd like to get to know better. She had personality. And a pair of breasts perfect for resting your head on. Maybe she'd let him after all this was over. Sid grinned at the thought.

Reaching the rows of slave huts, Sid quietly moved through them. A few times, he heard low sobs and groans from the closest huts. Unsurprising that the slaves weren't exactly overjoyed in their current status in life. Given a chance, he wouldn't mind changing that; at the least, they would make a nice distraction.

He saw an orange glow silhouette the house, and nodded in satisfaction

The fire bombs were brilliant little devices; a foot-long cylinder filled with a flammable liquid, small explosives with timers attached to the side. He'd picked them up in the last town, on one of the market stalls. Genius little things, he thought with a grin. Hadn't been too sure of them at first, but a few hours spent tinkering with them had got them in working order. The glow brightened. Sid raised his eyebrows. Maybe too good a working order.

The generator hut was a sizeable building on the other side of the slave huts. It sat twenty metres away from the house, far away enough that the noise it produced as it chugged away couldn't be heard by the occupants of the house. The structure was rectangular, ten metres long by five wide, and an easy four metres tall, capped with a corrugated metal roof that sloped down to one side. There was a door at the far end. A quick try told Sid all he needed. Locked.

He could try kicking the door it, except it looked fairly sturdy, more likely to break his foot trying than actually accomplish anything. Sid scratched his goatee. Stumped by a bloody door. He needed someway to get in, preferably without alerting the guards to his presence. Sid remembered the guard house. Chances were, there'd probably be a key there.

His course decided, Sid crept over to the house. It was quiet on this side, though he could hear something of a commotion on the other side.

The guard house was a simple lean-to, attached to the back of the house. It was a crude construction, added when the plantation had started to grow, and needed a more central location to co-ordinate the patrols. Three gun cabinets lined the walls, and a desk sat at one end, a radio unit on it. There was only one guard inside, the man hunched over the radio unit, listening to the reports coming from his fellows as they fought to control the fire.

The guard didn't hear Sid approach. The first he knew of his presence was when the butt of Sid's shotgun slammed into the back of his neck with a sickening _crack_. He dropped to the desk, unconscious.

Sid pulled the key ring off his belt, and grunted in annoyance; there had to be a dozen keys. Most of them were probably for the slave huts. A sudden idea hit him, bringing a slow smile.

Returning to the first of the slave huts, Sid tried the keys. It took until the third try to find the right one. Inside, five slaves were stretched out on the floor. They sat up at he opened the door, staring at him with fright in their eyes.

"This is a jail break," Sid said. "Interested?"

* * *

With the guards and half the staff suddenly distracted by the raging fire that was fast consuming the wheat fields, it was ridiculously easy sneaking into the house.

Ferris and Katrina cut across a field that hadn't caught fire yet, emerging ten metres from the building. They waited as people streamed out of the house to watch the fire before sprinting across to the house. Most panicked and started yelling, others simply standing dumbstruck. A stocky man stomped out of the house. He was dressed in a satin robe over his pyjamas, but there was no mistaking his authority. Lord Montague. He barked orders at his staff, and they hurried to follow them. Several raced off to the water tanks. Not that it would do much good. The fire was too big now for them to stop. The best they would be able to do was to control the level of damage, and prevent it from spreading to more fields.

Ferris slid his knife up the side of a window, shifting the latch. With a heave, he slid it open, then climbed in. He reached back down and pulled Katrina in. They pulled out their weapons and glanced around the room they were in. It was a study, books lining the walls. A thick carpet covered the floor. The room was dark, but there was light from the gap at the bottom of the single door. The lights were still on.

"I thought Sid was supposed to be killing the lights?" Katrina whispered.

"Give him time."

Ferris opened the door a crack. He couldn't see very much of the entrance hall, just part of the banister to the stairs. It looked clear though, so he opened the door further. The entrance hall was all polished mahogany, from floor to ceiling. Even the tables and the banister rails were made from the wood. The floor was at least covered in thick, crimson rugs. Paintings hung from the walls, depicting the owner of the house in various poses, some simple portraits, others of the conquering hunter, rifle in one hand, a foot on the body of some wasteland beast. There were even a pair of Deathclaw horns mounted on a plaque, which brought a shudder to Ferris. Somehow, he doubted Lord Montague had taken that thing down on his own, not without a dozen lackeys each armed with the heaviest assault weapons money could buy.

The entrance doors were still wide open, and beyond, they could see the silhouettes of people still rushing around, trying to deal with the fire. No one was concerned about two interlopers inside the house just yet.

Ferris and Katrina made their way up the stairs, assault rifle and SMG held ready as they scanned for hostiles. They made it to the landing when the lights went out.

Katrina yelped and cursed. "Did he have to pick now to shut down the power?" She rubbed her shin where she'd bashed it against the top step.

"You were complaining about it still being on a minute ago," Ferris whispered. "Make up your mind."

The first floor of the house was little different from the ground floor. A balcony ran around the central stairwell, mahogany railing around the perimeter. Corridors led away from the balcony to each wing of the house. To the right, Ferris knew, lay the master bedroom, along with the rest of Lord Montague's suite of rooms. The left led to the servant's quarters, doors spaced regularly along its length. Thick rugs covered the wooden floorboards. With the lights out, everything was bathed in shadow, though an orange glow was starting to encroach; it provided plenty illumination for the two Regulators to see by. More pictures hung from the walls, though it was too dark to see if they were the same sort of tasteless representations as on the ground floor.

Ferris led the way, padding down the left hand corridor, Katrina behind, covering their rear. There was a faint whisper of movement from his left. Ferris spun, bringing his rifle around.

"What the fuck-?" the bodyguard didn't have time for further comment. He brought up the dark barrel of his 10mm pistol. He fired two shots.

The bullets caught Ferris in the chest. He was thrown back against the wall, slammed into a small side table and smashed it to pieces.

Katrina spun and ducked. A third shot unloaded over her head. Behind her, a roughly circular section of wall suddenly detonated in a spray of wallpaper and splinters, torn apart by the impact. She fired a burst from her SMG. The 10mm bullets sent up a bloody spray. The bodyguard fell back into his room, one foot sticking out of the doorway.

She rushed over to Ferris. He was still sitting where he fell, amidst the wreckage of the broken table. His head was lolled forward. His jacket and dark red jumper had two round holes at the centre of his chest. Katrina expected to see dark blood ooze from the ruins of his chest, but there was none. Gently, she lifted Ferris' head. He opened his eyes.

"That fucking _hurt_," he groaned.

Katrina breathed a sigh of relief. She took his hand and pulled him to his feet. "Are you okay?"

"I'll live. Armour's fucked though. Think anyone heard that little exchange?" He rubbed his chest, feeling the two dimples in his flak vest. He winced. That was going to be tender for a while.

"Outside? Doubtful. I think they have their hands full with the fire. Those napalm grenades might have been a little over the top."

"Inside's probably a different story. We'd better hurry, lotta rooms to check."

Katrina shot him a concerned look, but didn't argue. He was right though, they didn't have much time.

Ferris moved further down the corridor to the next door along. He Knew she was here somewhere, but all he'd seen of her was heading into the house, not where she went to. She could even be downstairs, or down in the house's basement. He shook away that thought. No, she had to be in the servant's quarters. Had to be.

The door knob turned easily. Gently, he pushed the door open. The room was tiny, little more than a cub with a cot and a simple wooden dresser. Even in the darkness he could see that it was empty. The next was the same, but with boxes stacked up in the space.

Katrina emerged from the third room, and shook her head. Empty. She walked down the corridor to the door near the end. It was locked. Arching an eyebrow in surprise, she crouched down and pulled out her lock picks. The lock wasn't complex, and a few moments later she felt the satisfying click as the lock opened. Katrina smiled, and glanced back down the corridor. Ferris was still checking one of the other rooms. Standing, she pushed open the door and went in.

Whereas the lights were out in the rest of the house, the room was lit with a soft glow from a small kerosene lamp on a table against one wall. The room was much bigger than any of the others, with large windows and a chair in front of them. The furniture was simpler than the rest of the house though the carpet was as thick as any of the others. It probably belonged to the head of the serving staff. Someone who was outside helping to douse the fire they had started.

Another dead end. Then she saw movement on the double bed. It took a moment for Katrina to register what she saw. Someone was lying naked on the bed, her skin slick and shiny in the lamp light. Her hands had been tied above her head to the headboard.

Sonora.

"Ferris!" Katrina holstered her submachine gun and ran over to the bed. She put her hand against Sonora's brow. The girl was hot and feverish. She moaned suddenly at the touch. "Sonora? It's going to be okay. It's me, Katrina."

She heard movement behind her. "We've found her Ferris."

"She ain't all you found, bitch," the voice said into her ear. She felt his hot breath and tensed. Her hand reached for her gun. Too late.

Big, muscular arms shot around her. A hand grabbed her throat. She struggled. The cold edge of a knife touched her throat and she froze.

"Not a word, now," Leroy murmured. He turned to face the door.

Katrina heard quick footsteps coming into the room. She wanted to cry out, to give Ferris some sort of warning, but the knife pressed into her neck. She felt it draw blood.

"Katrina? What have you –" Ferris stopped. He brought up his rifle _fast_, the barrel aimed unerringly at Leroy. "Let her go, you bastard."

"I don't think so. You take one more step, and little bitch here goes to her grave with the biggest and last smile she'll ever have. You wanna see it?" Leroy grinned. Katrina moaned as the knife bit deeper into her neck. A thin trickle of blood slid down her neck to her collarbone. "Put down the fucking gun."

* * *

Sonora woke slowly. She hurt. Leroy had used her hard again, her thighs sore from his too vigorous fucking. Her breasts felt painful where his hands had twisted and gripped hard. Her wrists burned from the cord tied around them.

She heard someone talking to her. The voice was soft, female. Definitely not Leroy's. But it was familiar. Katrina? That just wasn't possible. Then she heard another voice she recognised, one she'd hoped to hear, because she knew he would never give up on her.

Her eyesight was blurry at first, and she blinked rapidly to clear it. What she saw made her screw her eyes shut and open them again. She couldn't believe it. It really was Ferris and Katrina. For a moment, she felt elated. Then reality sunk in. Leroy, his arms around Katrina, holding her hostage, preventing Ferris from killing him.

She had to do something. This was the moment she'd been waiting patiently for. Sonora looked up at the cord binding her hands. It was expertly tied, but not tightly, the bonds only meant to hold her in position whilst Leroy fucked her. It took a bit of wriggling, but she managed to get one hand free. Then she set about untying the other. The sudden release was blissful. She rubbed her wrists to sooth them.

Silently, Sonora sat up and slipped off the bed. She glanced at Ferris, silently telling him to hold Leroy's attention for just a little bit longer.

* * *

Ferris clenched the handle of his rifle. He wanted to pull the trigger. He finally had the bastard in his sights. One bullet, and he'd be dead. Except he risked Katrina doing it. And she was something he couldn't dare risking, not now. He growled in anger, and slowly put the rifle on the floor. Then he saw movement behind Leroy. He resisted the urge to flick his eyes in the direction.

"Now kick it away from you. Good boy." Leroy snickered. "You're one tenacious fucker, Ferris. Thought I'd seen the last of you when I had you sent to the Pitt. And now here you are. In my fucking way, again. You're like a fucking radroach."

"I told you in Paradise Falls. I'm going to kill you."

"Not doing so well are you. I got me the upper hand right now, you stupid fuck! Now back away."

"No."

"You want to see her dead? Back the fuck away."

Sonora crept up behind him. Her bare feet were silent on the carpet. Leroy always kept a spare knife strapped to his boot. She reached down and slid it out of its sheath. He didn't notice.

"You're too late, Leroy. And I was wrong."

"Yeah, about what?"

"I'm not going to kill you."

Sonora slipped the knife between Leroy's ribs and twisted. His legs gave out and he collapsed. Katrina slipped out of his suddenly slack grip, and Ferris was there, his arms around her, holding her, supporting her. She let out a sob of relief as he stroked her hair.

"You're okay," he whispered. "It's okay."

Ferris glanced over at Sonora. She was straddling the now prone Leroy. A small crimson pool was slowly expanding as blood poured out of the terrible wound in his back. Already his face had gone ashen.

Sonora reached over and picked up his combat knife. The blade wavered in her grip. Leroy tried to bat her hands away, but she effortlessly held his hand down. She had to be quick now, before he died on her.

"This is for everything you did, you greedy, sick bastard," she said.

The knife cut.

Leroy screamed as the blade sliced through bone and ligaments. When Sonora let go, his hand came up, but his fingers stayed on the floor. She moved to the other hand, and one by one, cut off those fingers too. Leroy's screams had turned to little whimpers by the time she was finished.

Sonora stood and dropped the knife point first next to his head. It stood quivering.

"You want to end it, pick up the knife." Her voice quavered as she spoke. Sonora turned to face Ferris. "Don't ask."

Ferris simply nodded. He shared a troubled look with Katrina.

She walked over to the wardrobe and took out a pair of jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. Her hands fumbled with the buttons of the jeans; they were still trembling, making it difficult to do anything. She could still hear Leroy's feeble cries as he bled to death. She had gained some satisfaction from the vicious act, but it was overshadowed by a growing coldness. All she wanted to do was collapse on the floor and sob, let everything out. But she couldn't. Ferris and Katrina had come all this way to save her, and she'd be damned if she was going to let them down now.

By the time she'd pulled them over her nakedness, she had settled her face into a mask of calm. It was skin deep, likely to fracture at any second, but it was all she had now. With luck, it would affect the rest of her. When she turned around Ferris had retrieved his rifle, and was standing next to Katrina.

"You okay?" He asked.

Sonora shook her head. "Don't want to talk about it. Can we just get out of here?"

He nodded. "I think we've out stayed our welcome long enough."

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	17. Parting Ways

**Parting Ways**

The fire was still raging as they returned to the stairs, and headed down and to the kitchen at the back of the house. It looked like no one was bothering to try and stop it anymore. It wouldn't be long before spread to every field. All it would take was one stray spark for the house to catch alight, and the entire valley would then be ablaze. Already there was a thick pall of smoke lying low over the valley, the underside coloured a faint orange by the flames.

Ferris almost felt a twinge of guilt. They were supposed to be the good guys, the ones who stopped people from committing such heinous acts. But then, he reminded himself, anyone who owned slaves, and let them be raped by his own staff, wouldn't be much of a paragon.

The house was quiet as they went back downstairs, Ferris in front, with Katrina bringing up the rear, Sonora walking along in between them. Absently, he rubbed his chest. It still hurt where the buckshot had struck his armour, but he didn't think anything was broken.

The kitchen door was unlocked and opened with a barely audible creak. Ferris signalled the all clear. They started down the path between the slave huts. The rows were long and dark, the little buildings looming ominously out of the smoky fog.

"That's odd," Sonora said.

"What?"

"All the doors are open."

"Maybe they're helping put out the fire," Katrina suggested.

"Except it doesn't look like it's helping much," Ferris said. the glow on the other side of the house had brightened considerably.

"Where do you two think you're going with my newest acquisition?" A new voice said.

The three of them froze and turned.

Lord Montague stood between a dozen of his men, all with their weapons raised and pointing at them.

"Did you do this?"

"Yes," Ferris said.

"Are you telling me, you set fire to my crops, invaded my home, for one pathetic little _girl_? I shall have you tortured for this."

"I don't think so."

Lord Montague laughed. "And what makes you so certain, little man. I've got a lot of guns pointed at you right how. How many do you have?"

Ferris smiled. "One. A sniper up in the hills. You'll be dead before you can even signal for your men to shoot."

"Through this crap? You're lying."

"Care to put it to the test?"

"You have just risked a lot for this one girl. I doubt that you would go through all that just to be gunned down, here and now."

"Better to die free than as a slave!" Sonora cried.

"Here here! Is this a private party, Monty old boy? Or can anyone join in?" Sid strode out from behind one of the slave huts to join Ferris, Katrina and Sonora. "Miss me?"

"Like a hole in the head," Ferris said.

"Well that's just charming." Sid turned to face Lord Montague. "You really want to put your guns down, you know."

He sneered. "Oh? And why should I do that? There's only one more of you."

"But I brought friends," Sid said.

Out of the smoke appeared over fifty slaves. Every last one carried a weapon, from pistols right up to combat shotguns and assault rifles. And all pointed at their ex master and his guards. Slowly, they put down their weapons.

"You know what, I really think they have something they want to say to you."

The four of them backed away as the ring of slaves closed in on Lord Montague. They made their way out of the valley and back to their camp. Behind them came the sound of gunfire.

* * *

They met up with the other Regulators at their temporary camp on the other side of the hill. Leonard, Greg, Lucas and Maxine were waiting for them. All but Leonard were streaked with soot. Maxine was tying a bandage around Lucas' arm.

"How'd it go?" Ferris asked as they entered the camp.

"Pretty damn good, considering. Half the fields were burning before we left," Lucas said.

"One of the guards got lucky, winged him with a shotgun blast," Maxine explained.

"Didn't see him till it was too fucking late."

"You're getting old, Lucas," Sonora said.

Lucas looked up sharply. "Sonora? That you Darlin'?"

Sonora stepped out from behind Ferris. There was a small smile curling her lips.

In one sudden move, Lucas had scooped her up in a big hug. He didn't notice the slight flinch as he approached. He let go after a while.

"You're okay. After all this time, you're okay."

"As I'll ever be."

The others gathered around, faces beaming. They dropped a little when Sonora backed a step away from them with a nervous smile.

Almost in unison, Leonard, Greg and Maxine sent a quizzical look at Ferris. He shook his head in reply, the answer clear enough; don't ask.

It took three days for the eight companions to return to Little Weston. They had decided to go back to rest and recuperate before they started to make their way back to DC. They constantly checked their trail as they travelled, keeping an eye out for Montague or any of his men, but there was no sign.

A hot bath, and two hours of rapturous sex later, Ferris found himself lying comfortably on a bed in a rented room, Katrina wrapped in his arms, her face so close to his, their noses almost touched. The duvet had been kicked off the bed; both of them were too hot for it, sweat from their recent exertions slowly evaporating from their skin.

"That just keeps getting better and better," Katrina breathed.

"Definitely."

"Want to practice some more?"

"Give me a minute," Ferris chuckled. "You've worn me out for the time being. I'm going to need some time to recover!"

"Men," Katrina grumbled. "You'd better not fall asleep on me."

"Not a chance." He stroked her back gently, fingertips running up and down her spine.

"Mmmm, that's nice."

"Like that, huh?"

"Yes," she purred.

Ferris grinned, and kissed her. "I've been thinking."

"Always a dangerous past time."

"You're funny. Been taking lessons from Sid?"

She stuck her tongue out at him. "What have you been thinking about?"

"Whether I'm going to stay on as a Regulator or not."

"What brought this on?"

"Well, things are changing. I've changed. You don't go toe to toe with a Deathclaw everyday, or get sent off to the Pitt into slavery."

"True. So, what're you thinking of doing instead?"

"Well, wandering the wasteland's out, and I don't fancy joining one of the merc crews. I've always wanted to crew a ship, you know, run cargo all the way from here to the Commonwealth."

Katrina stared at him. She started to say, "Well, if that's what you'd love to do," when she saw the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. She slapped him on the arse. "You're having me on, aren't you?"

"Maybe a little. Somehow, I don't think Sonora would be very happy if I just decided to up and leave. Not now."

"You, you're just," she tailed off into an inarticulate sound.

Ferris laughed. "I can't believe you fell for it."

"I'm not sure I want to talk to you right now."

"I was only teasing," he hugged her hard, and kissed her, holding it for several seconds.

A thumping noise started as the bed in the room next to them started banging against the wall.

Ferris glanced up at the wall. "I guess Sid's getting lucky."

"Yes, oh God, yes!" a woman's voice moaned.

"Is it me, or does that sound like Maxine?"

"It is Maxine," Katrina told him.

His eyes widened in surprise. "When did that happen?"

"Last time we were here I think. She told me about the way he'd been flirting with her. Guess she took the opportunity."

The moaning continued, getting louder.

"Am I that loud?" Katrina asked, her cheeks blushing.

Ferris grinned wickedly at her. "Shall we find out?"

* * *

"You sure you don't want to stay with us?" Ferris said.

"No mate. Lot of country out there I've not seen yet. I've had enough of DC for now. Being put in a slave collar and dragged off to work in a mine really kills the joy, you know?" Sid said.

They stood at the gates to Little Weston, Sid's pack sitting on the ground beside him. After almost a week, the eight companions got their belongings ready to leave. Ferris had spent most of it in bed with Katrina, the pair of them emerging only to get food. He'd met Sid a few times on the landing, an awkward meeting with the pair of them in nothing but their smallclothes. It seemed Sid and Maxine had barely left their room either. When they finally decided it was time to go, both Sid and Ferris had shared amused grins, completely unashamed of what they'd been up to, or that anyone else knew. Maxine shared that feeling, whilst Katrina had just smiled demurely.

Sonora had changed during the week. She had spent most of the time in her single room, barely seen by anyone. When she finally emerged, her features were set in a perfect, cold mask. There was no sign of the young, carefree girl anymore.

The eight companions set off for the gates to the town. Which was when Sid had finally declared that he wasn't coming back with them.

Ferris chuckled. "Can't deny that. You could join us, you know."

"Not much of a team player, and besides, I don't like being tied to one place for too long, you know that."

"True."

"I've had a blast, mate. Next time I want an adventure, I'll look you up."

"You'd better not. I've got enough to deal with without you and your idea of an adventure!"

Sid laughed. "How about a drink instead?"

"Deal." Ferris offered his hand. Sid shook it, then pulled the regulator into a bear hug. "You watch out for yourself."

Sid slung his pack over his shoulder. "When don't I? And mate, be wary of that kid. I think she lost something of herself, somewhere down the line."

He was only thirty metres down the road before Maxine ran past Ferris to catch Sid up. The pair of them were talking animatedly as they crested the next hill and dropped out of sight.

Ferris shook his head as he returned to the others. He hadn't seen that coming. He shrugged and glanced over at Sonora. The stony look was on her face again. He wasn't sure if he was going to get used to that.

"Shall we get going? Long road ahead."

Sonora nodded. "We've been away from DC for too long. And there's something I need you to do when we get back, Ferris."

He shuddered. She sounded just like her father.

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	18. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The brandy glowed a pleasant golden colour in the firelight as he swirled it round the glass. It was a good bottle, one of the last of his pre-war collection, but Robert considered it appropriate to crack open the bottle. After all, it wasn't everyday that you sealed a deal with the Talon company mercenaries that would allow him to expand his little empire. The mercenaries were more than happy to attack trade convoys across DC, slaughtering the guards and taking whatever equipment there was that was worth hauling.

They were a bloodthirsty lot, Robert conceded, always focused on the now. But he was thinking long term, especially considering that compared to the rest of humanity, he was damn near immortal. The attacks on the convoys would weaken the towns, allowing his own merchants to step in and take over. He would then have full control of the market, he might even be able to take over the Rivet City businesses.

That was a nice thought. Perhaps he'd even be able to move there, instead of living in the run down old apartment building. It had served his purposes well over the past year, but it was too hard to defend effectively, too many little breaches and gaps where the building's structure had collapsed.

Life had been good for the pat several months, he reflected. Ever since he'd finally dealt with Morgan, getting the revenge he'd dreamed about for years, things had been going well. It had certainly killed two birds with one bullet. The bothersome Regulators, who the merchants would most likely go directly to for protection, no longer existed, removing a second irritation in one fell swoop.

Robert smiled at the thought, and took a sip of his brandy. He sat back in his high backed leather chair, stretching his feet out before the fire. It was quite cosy in the receiving room, the light from the fire providing a pool of illumination that only really stretched to the pillars that flanked the fire place. Everything else was left in the gloom, enough so that you could almost believe that the place still retained its previous splendour, that the wallpaper was definitely not peeling off the walls, and that the single, paltry rug was not threadbare. He started to drift off.

The sound of gunfire brought him fully awake, hearted hammering in his necrotised chest. Robert cast about, but could see no one in the gloaming.

Another burst of gunfire, answered by several booms from a shotgun. Still a couple of floors beneath him. A serious battle was raging, judging by the noise. Someone must have brought an army to assault his home. But who? For a fleeting moment, he wondered if one of his men had decided to turn on him. Except they were all too scared of their ghoul master.

Where were his damned staff? His bodyguards should be storming up to protect him.

His gun lay on the little coffee table next to his chair, a custom .44 magnum. He snatched it up, and held it ready, pointed at where he judged the door to the stairs was.

The gunfire silenced. Either his staff had fought off and killed the attackers, or the intruders had won.

The silence seemed to stretch to eternity. Robert's hands started to tremble a little from the effort of holding the gun level at the doorway, but he didn't drop it. He moved behind his chair, and used the back as an arm rest. The chair would provide some cover at least.

Several minutes passed, and still no sign of his staff. That worried him. By rights, they should have raced up here to check up on him by now. He could stay in the room, waiting for someone to either find him, or kill him, he thought, or he could make a move now. There were several escape points on this level, one twenty metres away, on the floor above. It led to a makeshift bridge to the building next door. From there he could make his escape, fleeing before he was found. The thought rankled, but better to live a coward than die a fool.

He started to move away from the chair, when he suddenly realised he wasn't alone. A shift in the air pressure, or a slight noise, it didn't matter, but he just _knew_.

"Who's there?" He said, flicking his gaze around the room, pistol barrel following. "Show yourself!"

The rifle shot came from his right. It was perfectly aimed, the bullet blasting clean through his forearm and shattering his bone. Another shot blew out his kneecap.

Robert went down screaming. His pistol clattered to the floor next to him, just out of reach.

Someone stepped out of the shadows. Robert took in the long coat, dusty, a dark tan in colour, the bottom tattered. The scream turned from agony to one of fear. A dead man had come back for him.

Morgan.

With his one good arm, he dragged himself backward, away from the approaching figure. Every move shot agony up his spine, and left a bloody smear in his wake.

Then he saw the man's face. Not Morgan. He was too young, and very much alive. But his face was grim, his mouth set in a hard line.

"Don't kill me, please don't kill me," Robert pleaded.

The man drew a heavy bladed combat knife.

"I'm here to collect a debt," Ferris Mars said.

* * *

The leather pouch dropped on the desk with a wet thud.

Sonora's eyes flickered at it before returning back to examining the sheaf of reports. Several Regulators had remained in the field in the months after her father's death and her kidnapping, and there was now a huge stack of reports for her to go through. It was not a pleasant prospect. But the word had gone out to the field operatives to return to the farmhouse. In a few more weeks, there would be no more reports to be filed, no more steady stream of information to sift through. They would be able to get on with the real work of bringing justice to the wasteland. She would see to it.

Eventually, Sonora finished the report and opened the pouch, spilling its contents onto her desk. Fingers rolled out, the ends capped mostly with dried blood, though a couple left bloody streaks as they rolled to a stop. There were eight in all.

"Good work Ferris," she said.

"I can't do this."

Sonora looked up at him. She was surprised to see an uneasy look on his face. He looked grim.

"It's necessary."

"Is it? I remember when we didn't have to cut off someone's fingers just to prove they were dead. I remember when being a Regulator meant more than being an executioner."

"Times change, roll with it."

Ferris stared at her. "What happened, Sonora?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, sitting back in her chair. She felt her throat go tight, and cursed silently. She was not going to break. Not now, not ever.

"You're hard, and cold with it. Hell, I'm not sure if its blood that flows in your veins or coolant these days. What happened to that sweet kid I used to look after?"

"She died out there, so I have to be hard. You can't be soft here, not ever."

"But this? It makes us no better than bastards like Talon Company!"

"That's out of line Ferris," Sonora snarled.

"Is it? Your father wouldn't agree. He used to listen to my counsel."

"He's dead, and I'm in charge now," she growled. Her throat was close to choking up now, and she could feel the hot tears gathering. But she wouldn't cry. "I will have your loyalty."

Ferris' reply was so quiet she almost didn't hear it. "My loyalty was to Morgan and his ideals. Not yours. One day, you're going to have to come to terms with what happened to you."

She felt as if he'd slapped her. "How _dare _you! Get out, now. You can leave your coat."

He nodded slowly. The duster was shrugged off. He caught it with one hand, and laid it over the top of the filing cabinet next to the door.

"You're leading the Regulators down your own path of vengeance, one I can't support. I hope one day you'll come to see that. Goodbye, Sonora."

She heard his footsteps walk away, and the front door shut behind him. The sound was a crushing finality. Suddenly, she wanted to rush after him, tell him he was right, to sob into his arms as he soothed away the hurt and pain that was her constant companion. She desperately wanted him to make it better.

But she didn't. After a while, Sonora began to cry. Only this time, there was no one to come and rescue her.

* * *

The shack on the hill, hidden behind its lee of rock, was just as Ferris had left it all those months ago. The timber walls, with sheets of metal nailed into place looked exactly as he remembered. The inside was the same. He'd almost expected to see the rotting corpse of the man he'd left tied up there, but there was no sign of him, except for some severed rope, left in a pile next to the wall.

Ferris was somewhat relieved at that. If he was honest with himself, he'd had visions of the man he'd robbed dying in the shack, unable to escape as hunger and thirst eventually took their toll, or still struggling with his bonds as a roving band of super mutants happened by and decided to investigate the structure. But then, it had seemed abandoned when he'd found it, and that was a state that hadn't changed in the intervening months.

Entering the back room, he prised up the floorboards. They were right where he left them. He reached down and smiled, pulling out his old, faithful pistol. He'd missed the gun, but now it was back where it belonged. He knew it was stupid to form an attachment to an inanimate object, especially one that was used to kill, but the pistol had been his for years, even got him out of a few rough spots too. It was the only legacy of his life before he became a Regulator. That, and it had saved his life when the deathclaw was coming for him.

Dropping the pistol and its holster on the bed, he opened the bottom drawer of the single wardrobe. He took out his old duster, and put it on before strapping on his pistol. Ferris straightened the lapels of his duster, glad to be back in his old coat. He glanced down at the assault rifle still in the hole under the floorboards. He hesitated for a second, then slipped the boards back into place, leaving the rifle where it was. His purloined Chinese rifle was a far better weapon. And besides, it might be useful having a spare weapon hidden out here.

Standing, he left the shack, and made his way back down to the road, where Katrina was waiting for him, leaning against the rusted remains of a barrier. A pack was lying on the ground next to her. She smiled when she saw him.

"Very dashing,"

Ferris grinned at the compliment. He kissed her.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked. "I made the choice to leave the Regulators, not you. You can still have a life here. I think Sonora needs a friend right now."

Katrina laid a finger over his lips, silencing him. "I'd rather be with you. And if you can't stomach her new regime, what makes you think I can? Remember how I reacted to the torture? No way am I cutting someone's fingers off!"

"Very true. So what now?"

"It's a big world. Maybe we should go see more of it?"

Ferris nodded. "You know, I've always wanted to visit the West Coast."

Katrina kissed him. "It's a start."

**The End**

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**A/N: And there you go, the story of how the Regulators started collecting fingers of evil characters! Extra special thanks to Lady Isis for all her help. Also thanks to Chaosmob for his reviews.  
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** Hoped you all enjoyed this tale - I'd really like to know what you all thought of it!  
**


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